The Witness
by Prynne
Summary: Team Gibbs finally catches a break in their hunt for a serial killer targeting Marine wives when the elusive murderer accidentally leaves a witness. Meanwhile, as Tony tries to form a bond with the uncooperative youth, a visit from a childhood friend forces Tony to face the dark demons of his past. [Tony centric].
1. Running

_This plot bunny's bouncing in my head. I couldn't resist! _

_*New* The story now has a Tumblr. Check my profile for deets!_

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 1: Running<em>**

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><p><strong>8:00 PM<strong>

**Anacostia Park**

**Washington, D.C.**

"Look, dude, do you want the phone or not?" the seller groused, impatiently pressing his fists to his lips and blowing warmth over his knuckles. "I don't got all day!"

"Is it still under Apple Care?" the buyer continued to scrutinize, ignoring the seller's petulance and chattering teeth.

"Yeah. I had it for like, eight months. You've got lots of time to extend it or whatever."

"Eight months, huh? That's a pretty short turn around."

The seller narrowed his eyes menacingly. "Like I said in the ad," he bit out. "I'm saving up for football camp."

"Football camp? What position do you play, water boy? You look like you're a hundred pounds wet!"

The seller groaned inwardly. The yuppie types were always good for a game twenty questions. "I know you're like, being thorough and stuff, but it's million degrees below zero so if you could like, make a decision, my balls would appreciate it."

The buyer smirked. "Cut the crap, Kid. You and I both know this bad boy's as hot as—what the hell?"

Two sets of eyes jerked toward a cluster of bushes and trees. From their vantage point, the buyer and the seller could make out a dark figure skulking deeper into the greenery. A naked—and very dead—woman was slung over its shoulder like a burlap sack.

Her pale hands flapped listlessly in the night air. A blonde curtain of curls draped around her face. Two long legs trailed behind the figure like a cape of limp noodles.

"Holy shit," and with that, the buyer catapulted off in a bumbling dash for his car, ditching the seller and iPhone in the process.

The world seemed to stop as the phone somersaulted toward the sky and plowed onto the concrete, its glass screen exploding in a sloppy spider web. Normally the seller would've freaked about losing five hundred desperately needed dollars. But in that moment, under the illuminating scrutiny of the full moonlight, all he could think about was the frigid, malevolent glare seeping from the expanse a few terrifying feet away.

A sharp jolt of adrenaline scrambled the seller into a desperate run for his life. With his heavy backpack weighing him down, he propelled forward as he forced himself to ignore the swift, methodological footsteps matching his pace for pace.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Left.

Rig—

A brawny arm snatched his throat from behind, a cold palm slammed against his lips. The seller felt the bulge of a gun against his back. "Easy now," a surprisingly gentle voice whispered next to his ear. "I won't hurt you."

Suddenly, one his foster brothers' voices flashed across the seller's mind. _"If some asshole ever gets ya in a headlock: go limp on his ass. Make 'em think ya surrenderin'. Right when he's good an' comfortable: you flip the bastard on his ass. Kick 'em as hard as ya can an' cut outta there."_

"Don't struggle. Yeah that's it," the killer encouraged when he felt the seller sag under his grasp. "Good boy."

With all his might, the seller grabbed the killer's wrist and flipped him over his shoulder onto the concrete. He dealt a swift kick to the sicko's jaw before bolting into the inky haze of the night.

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><p><strong>6:35 AM<strong>

**Anthony DiNozzo's Apartment**

**Falls Church, VA**

Pillow Lust: The sensation special agents experience where they're so exhausted that the feeling of their face plowing into their pillow is so utterly fantastic, it's almost sexual.*

After three sleepless nights, Tony's pillow lust was generating enough heat to microwave the entire Washington Metro area. Team Gibbs was two weeks into the hunt for a serial killer targeting Marine wives and after four victims and no witnesses or DNA, the investigation was as cold as the Nor'easter freezing the East Coast. When Gibbs had finally banished his bleary-eyed team home, Tony had rushed straight into the arms of his memory foam mattress.

Tony was two hours into his orgasmic vacation in the Realm of Nod when the unwelcome patter of fists against his front door yanked him back to consciousness. He rolled over and checked his phone: 6:35? AM? Really?

It couldn't be Gibbs or McPunctual. Hell, even Bishop, in all her awkward glory, respected the sanctity of an agent's power nap. Whoever it was could enjoy the fine facilities of Tony's hallway because he was going back to sleep! He yanked his duvet over his head and hoped the thick down feathers would muffle infuriating racket.

Alas, the wretched knocking continued.

With an incensed growl, he begrudgingly threw on his robe and stamped toward the door in an agitated fog. The pest seemed to be as tenacious as they were annoying. Maybe their loved ones could inscribe that on their tombstone.

One glance through the peephole and his blood ran cold.

The bastard actually had the audacity to show up. At Tony's house. At six in the morning!

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Tony shouted at the closed door. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear when you called, Tippy!"

Turns out, Tony had been right.

James "Tippy" Sherbrook IV—golden scion of his old east coast family and New York Times investigative reporter extraordinaire—was as tenacious as he was annoying. For the past six months, Tippy had blown up all avenues of Tony's communication with hopes enticing him to participate in an exposé about their old boarding school. Tony had hoped his lack of response would've given the nosey newshound a clue.

Apparently not.

"You ignored my calls, e-mails, facebook messages—hell, I even snail mailed you and you shined that on. What's up with that, DiNo?"

Tony sneered at the childhood nickname. He could hear the haughty indifference tinting Tippy's tone and he hated it. "You're an investigative reporter, did you ever investigate that my lack of a response was—ding, ding, ding!—my response?"

"I thought about it," Tippy admitted with air of disinterested honesty. "But then I thought about the greater good. You should try it sometime. So, gonna let me in?"

Tony scrubbed his face with his palms and desperately tried to ebb his urge to free his sidearm from his nightstand. "Tippy, I've had two hours of sleep over the course of three days," he spoke with rehearsed composure. "I'm only going to say this once: I won't help you. Now you and your ghosts from middle school hell can get back on I-95 and out of my life."

"That's exactly what it was, DiNozzo: Hell."

Tony was taken aback by the haunted earnestness rattling Tippy's voice.

Hell.

That was the understatement of the millennium.

No. No he wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't think about a bespectacled boy too unsure of himself to be sure of anyone else. He wouldn't let his mind wander to a boy craving attention, so desperate for even the tiniest kernels of affection that he'd...

No!

No, he wouldn't go back there.

"We can end it, DiNo" Tippy pressed on. "We can stand up and—"

"I can't!" Tony shouted, ashamed of his desperation. Swallowing his jagged memories, he pressed his head against the door. The wood's frosty temperature prickled his skin and cooled the hot shame roaring inside him. "I can't help you, Tippy."

"Can't or won't?"

The ringing of Tony's cell phone severed the answer on its owner's tongue.

Gibbs.

"Yeah, Boss. Be there in twenty."

"Saved by the serial killer, huh?" Tippy's characteristic smirk was back in his voice. "You know, DiNozzo, Katherine Porter said 'the past is never where you think you left it.' I'll be in touch."

Tony didn't even stick around to hear Tippy's footsteps trickle away from his door. He showered and dressed, fed Kate and Ziva. He drove to café on autopilot, trying to avoid the forlorn eyes of the boy in the rearview mirror.

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><p><strong><strong>7:42AM<strong>**

**Anacostia Park**

**Washington, D.C.**

"We sure it's him?" Tony asked, thrusting a coffee cup in a grateful Tim's McGee's hand.

Tim took a much-needed sip of caffeine as the two agents fell into a synchronized stride toward the latest, and hopefully the last, victim. "Blonde military wife raped and strangled with a phone cord then buried in a shallow grave in a public place. It's him, Tony."

Tony sighed and rubbed his jaw, attempting to scourge away the weariness that tightened it. "Does victim number five have a name?"

"Trina Phillips-Villalobos. Twenty-five. No kids like the others. Husband is Corporal Emilio Villalobos. He's a field wireman at Quantico. He's going to meet us at the Navy Yard."

DiNozzo surveyed the scene with a stoic eye that dwindled rapidly into disgust the deeper he walked into the bush. Ducky and Palmer were crouched over the naked corpse, engrossed in their work. Gibbs was a few feet away, barking orders at a flustered Bishop.

"Liver temperature places her death between twelve and fourteen hours ago," Ducky spoke as he examined the body. "The ligature marks indicate strangulation as the cause of death. These parallel lines are consistent with the pattern left by the phone cord used on his previous victims. As with the others, he didn't kill her here. He buried her with her ID in a shallow and unobstructed grace. He wanted us to find and identify her…"

While Ducky talked, Tony couldn't help but stare into the bright, hollow pits of Trina's unseeing blue eyes. Her manicured brows were frozen in horrified confusion, as if she couldn't fathom how someone could be capable such brutality.

As his eyes gingerly trailed down to the mosaic of bruises and blood darkening her thighs, Tony realized he couldn't understand either.

"DiNozzo!"

His head jerked upward and toward the familiar gruffness of Gibbs' voice. Gibbs beckoned Tony over with an urgent wave to where he and Bishop were hovering above an iPad. Tony immediately jogged over, grateful for the distraction.

"It looks our guy finally left a witness," Bishop barreled ahead before Gibbs could shape his lips to speak. "The joggers who found the body stumbled on this," she pointed to the cracked iPhone in the evidence bag dangling in Gibbs' hand. "The witness probably saw our psycho in action and dropped his phone when he fled."

From Gibbs' narrowed eyes and his tight grip on his cup, Tony sensed his boss' exasperation at Bishop taking the lead. For her part, Ellie Bishop was oblivious to the blue death glare Gibbs had aimed at her forehead. She fired off her findings in a frenetic frenzy, blissfully unaware of her colleagues' waning patience.

"Gibbs usually runs point," Tony interrupted with feigned gentleness.

"Huh?" Bishop's features scrambled into a befuddled frown.

"Gibbs: leader. You: probie."

At least she had decency to blush. "Sorr—"

Gibbs shot Tony a chastising glare over the rim of his cup. " 'Never apologize. It's a sign of weakness,' " he rattled off with a needled sigh. "Go on, Bishop."

"Right," she snuck a glance at Tony and cleared her throat. "Well, uh…maybe Abby can lift some fingerprints off the screen and home button but it might be a long shot. Even if he had a criminal record, the DC Metro only fingerprints juveniles arrested for felonies."

"Our witness is a kid?"

Bishop turned the iPad toward Tony. "Looks about twelve or thirteen."

The footage was grainy and stuttering, as if shot in the 1930s. The black-and-white palette gave Tony an eerie, James Whale horror flick vibe. Suddenly, like a flash of light, a lanky figure darted across the screen like a photon. Almost out of the camera's watchful eye, the runner jerked to a halt. He dropped his hands to his knees, obviously panting. After a moment he stood, clutching his side, and looked straight into the lens of the camera.

A disturbing familiarity washed over Tony.

Those eyes: almond shaped and slightly slanted like a cat's. Framed by delicately arched brows and prominent cheekbones.

Those eyes: Anthony DiNozzo had seen them before.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! <strong>

This is my first time trying to balance a case fic and a subplot, so any and all feedback is eagerly appreciated.

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><p><strong>Some notes:<strong>

*The term "Pillow lust" isn't mine. Complements of Urban Dictionary, folks. I just edited the definition to fit the story.

*The plot is inspired by one of my favorite shows. I won't spill which one, as I don't want to spoil everything, but as the plot progresses and the parallels become more obvious, I'll name the show.

And with that, I'll shut up now.


	2. The Artful Dodger

Hi all. Thank you for all the lovely reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm so grateful for all the support! Love to those of you who submitted anonymous feedback. I would've sent you individual replies if I could.

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><p><strong><em>Chapter 2: The Artful Dodger<em>**

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><p><strong>9:42 AM<strong>

**NCIS Forensic Laboratory**

**Washington, D.C.**

The jackhammer inhabiting Tony's brain was pummeling harder than usual since Tippy's unsolicited visit.

The migraines had tormented him since he was twelve. They would sneak up on him, like thieves in the night, smuggling pain through his brain's network of neurons. The barbed, vibrating clangs of the jackhammer were the immortal howls of his demons reverberating against his skull. Tony kneaded his temple with a clenched fist, but he couldn't scrub them away.

"Tony!"

He jolted back to reality to find Abby glaring at him impatiently. "Sorry Abs," he cleared his throat and smiled sheepishly. "What were you saying?"

Abby scrutinized him like a doctor checking for symptoms. "You okay? You look kinda lost."

"Lost? Nah," he chuckled dismissively. "Just tired."

She folded her arms and propped up an incredulous brow. "Sure about that?"

"Very," he yawned for good measure. "So, get anything good for me?"

She gave an unconvinced snort, but moved on. "But of course," Abby grinned accomplishedly and flicked on her monitors. "I've got two awesome forensic finds for you. Ready?"

"Hit me."

She socked him in the arm.

Tony scowled at the slight throb in his bicep. "Really?"

"_Anyway, _awesome find one: prints. Three unique patterns of whorls and lines. Two belong to adults, one belongs to our mystery munchkin."

"Any hits on the kid?"

"Patience, my child. Okay, so kiddie criminal prints aren't stored in federal databases and since Metro PD guards anything juvenile related like the Colonel guarded his original recipe, I had to work some serious mojo to get his prints run through the Department of Youth Rehabilitation Services."

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt the jackhammer rev up. "Please don't tell me you illegally accessed DYRS' database?"

"Of course I didn't! What do you take me for?"

"Uh…I'll take 'tech genius who's been known to hack her way through red tape' for three hundred, Alex."

Her eyes lit up. "So you think I'm a genius?"

"The task at hand: focus on it."

"Right, the wee felon. For once I didn't 'hack my way through red tape', I inveigled my way through it."

" 'Inveigled', huh?' Sounds painful."

"It was. An old friend from college works in DYRS' records department. I told him his new hair plugs look luscious and natural, he gave me the file I needed, and I agreed to let him buy me dinner. All of that would technically be harmless, except he has the table manners of a peckish pirate."

"So what booty did Jack Sparrow procure?"

"The kid's file. Meet Cornelius Griffin Forsythe, thirteen going on fourteen, and a ward of the District of Columbia. Metro busted him with three stolen iPhones last year. He served six months for felony theft in the first degree at the Youth Services Center before being released to a DYRS group home in Anacostia. I already text you the address."

One click of her mouse and the boy's intake photo shimmered into view. Tony absently noticed the nutmeg-colored freckles scattered liberally across the boy's nose and cheeks. He barely took in the unkempt black hair and the thin, unsmiling mouth.

However, those eyes, clearer now, had Tony's unbridled attention. They reminded him of corroded pennies: copper peppered with generous speckles of green. He combed his past, searching for the source of the nagging sense of familiarity. A memory flickered, but dissipated in the sleep-deprived haze of his mind.

"Tony?"

He shook his head to clear the fog. "You said you had two adult prints?"

"That I did. I present awesome forensic find two: Lindsay Baker and Michael Manning," another click of her mouse revealed two DMV photos. "Lindsay reported her phone stolen two weeks ago. A kid swiped it on the Metro."

"Let me guess, Cornelius?"

"Give the man a prize! The kid's also an iPhone fence. That's where Manning comes in."

Tony took in the blond man's thick beard, wayfarer frames, and ironic hipster hair. "He was the kid's buyer."

"Bingo. Which is pretty frickin' fortuitous because he may have seen something too. You guys can question him at the juice bar where he works."

"Awesome work, Abs."

Abby frowned and swept him with an appraising look. "You look awful."

The sarcastic 'thanks' was knocked off his lips by the thud of her body crashing into his. They stayed that way for beat before she pulled away and cupped his face in her palms. He struggled to keep it together under her probing gaze.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. But whatever it is, if you wanna talk about it: I'm here."

"There's nothing to talk about, but thanks."

"Fine, be like that. Anyway, I suggest you head upstairs before Gibbs starts divvying out tasks. You wouldn't wanna get stuck canvassing with good 'ol Bishop, would you?"

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><p>"And DiNo took off like Usain Bolt for the bathroom, holding the seat of his pants the whole way!"<p>

Of the things Tony expected to see when he stepped into the bullpen, Tippy Sherbrook chatting up McGee and Bishop wasn't one of them. The smug bastard was sprawled out, making himself completely at home in Tony's chair—Ferragamos on the desk, hands mused in his designer haircut, holding court like he owned the place.

He was so dead!

"DiNo! We were wondering when you'd show up."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

McGee grinned impishly. "Tippy was telling us about the time he put chocolate ex-lax in your Yoo-hoo."

"Shouldn't you be working McGossipmonger? And you," he shot Tippy a contemptuous glare. "Get your muckraking ass outta my chair."

"You'd actually need fame for me to be a muckraker," Tippy quipped and remained seated. "Besides, can't a guy come see his federal tax dollars at work?

"No," Tony snapped and turned to McGee. "Where's Gibbs?"

"Notifying Corporal Villalobos in the conference room. Poor guy, they were thinking about starting a family. Anything on the witness?"

"Abs fou—"

"—So he finally left a witness, eh?" Tippy injected, grinning at Tony's agitated scowl. "You guys had better work fast, then. As thorough as he sounds, I'm sure he's looking to tie up his loose ends. I'd bet my reputation—"

"Sorry Tippy, there's a ten-cent minimum. So why don't you and your alleged reputation take a hike?"

"Oh, lighten up, DiNo. This is just a friendly visit. It's not like I'm here to collect on what you owe me."

"Good luck with that," McGee scoffed. "Tony still hasn't paid back the twenty bucks he borrowed from me four years ago."

"What he owes me is worth far more than money. Isn't that right, DiNo?"

Before he could stop himself, Tony snatched Tippy out of the chair by the lapels of his jacket, bringing the reporter's face to within mere inches of his own. "Leave. Now."

McGee frowned at the darkness in Tony's tone. He glanced over at Bishop for support, but she was too engrossed in her headphones and laptop to notice the cold war waging in the bullpen. "What's going—"

"—Tippy's going. Out the door. Right, 'friend'?"

"Is there a problem here?"

Tony jumped at the sound of Gibbs' voice behind him. His spine instinctively straightened as he let go of a smirking Tippy. "No Boss," Tony tacked on a smile and turned around. "Tippy here was just leaving."

"Ahh, you must be the formidable Agent Gibbs," Tippy straightened his jacket and snaked his hand around Tony toward Gibbs. "Tippy Sherbrook, New York Times."

Gibbs eyed the outstretched palm, inspecting it like a UN weapons official. He shook the hand, albeit lightly. "Here about the case?"

"Nope, Agent DiNo's an old friend…"

"Then I suggest you play catch up on your own time."

"Message received, Agent Gibbs," he nodded, his trademark grin in tact. "It was nice meeting you, sir. Likewise, Agent McGee…Bishop."

Spinning on the ball of his foot, Tippy wordlessly marched toward the main elevator. He stopped short of pressing the down button and turned around.

"Hey DiNo, I'll be in town for a few weeks following up on some leads for my story. We should catch up. Dinner, maybe? My time, my treat?"

"No means no, Tippy. You should know that better than anyone."

Tippy didn't bat an eyelash. "See you around, DiNo."

"Wanna tell me what that was about, DiNozzo?"

Tony searched for the wrong words, the words that would give Gibbs nothing to read into. The right words, brimming with a truth he wasn't ready to spill swayed in front of him. He blinked them away.

"Kid stuff, Boss."

"Good, because we've got a witness to track down. What'd Abby get off the phone?"

Tony nodded his gratitude for Gibbs' willingness to let it slide. He regurgitated Abby's findings, steeling his face into a neutral expression. The jackhammer drilled on, the demons of the past howling in Tippy's wake.

"Bishop, McGee: talk to Michael Manning. Bishop, bring your sketchpad. Hopefully he saw something that'll help us nail the bastard. DiNozzo, with me."

"On your six, Boss."

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><p><strong>10:50 AM<strong>

**McNevin Youth Crisis Shelter**

**Anacostia, Washington, D.C.**

McNevin was a drab mass of brick and concrete. Located east of the Anacostia river, the twelve bed facility housed troubled boys in a structured, homelike residential setting. However, the grassless yard and towering iron gate gave Tony prison vibes instead of homey ones. The sea of ramshackle row houses surrounding the shelter was the only indications of a residential area.

"NCIS, huh?" Chad Westlake, McNevin's Housing Case Manager, asked with detached interest as he focused on his laptop instead of the agents across from him. "So, what sailor did Cory mug?"

Tony surveyed the man's small office with a pained look. It was a crevice of disarray. The dilapidated faux mahogany desk was littered with mounds of manila folders and empty coffee cups. The air hung heavy with the acrid smell of cigarettes and hopelessness.

His mind dragged him into a similar office. The distant memory of an apathetic adult jerked to the forefront. Tony quickly whisked it away.

"We believe Cory witnessed a murder," Gibbs replied evenly. "We need to talk to him."

Chad scoffed, frowning at them over the rim of his laptop. "That won't end well," he rolled his bloodshot eyes as he fumbled around for his coffee. "There's two kinds of people these kids don't talk to: social workers and cops."

"I'm surprised he hasn't responded to your special brand of sympathy," Tony deadpanned.

"Not for lack of trying," Chad rejoined hotly. Emitting an audible breath, he stretched his short arms and knotted his fingers into two fists before placing them on the cluttered desktop. "That boy's been in foster care since he was five. There's documented evidence of chronic physical abuse in his file—and that's just what a medical examination could prove. Kids like Cory, who've been disappointed by most, if not all, of the adults in their lives aren't going to open up just because we want them to."

"If it's all the same to you, we'd still like to try."

"It's your rodeo, Agent Gibbs," Chad stood and moved for the door. "Just hang onto your wallets. The boy's got lighter fingers than the Artful Dodger."

Moments later, a frazzled Chad returned with a teenager that obviously wasn't Cory. Sporting a giant tangle of blond dreadlocks and clothes eighty sizes too big for him, the boy ran his brown eyes over Gibbs and Tony, assessing their faces like a chessboard.

"Go on, Ricky. Tell them what you told me."

"What's in it for me? I mean, come on, ya don't expect me to narc out my roomie for free, do ya?"

Tony smirked. "How about an all expenses paid vacation to YSC for obstruction of justice if you don't talk."

"Hey man, no need to get litigious. As I was telling my den mother here, Cory snuck out after curfew last night. He never came back."

Gibbs' aimed a cold stare at Chad. "You don't do bed checks?"

"We're not incompetent, Agent Gibbs!"

"Actually ya kinda are," Ricky grinned cheekily. "But if it makes ya feel better, Cory's actually pretty smart."

"Ricky, I swear, if you don't talk I'll make sure you don't see another shower token for a month!"

"Okay, okay! It's not my fault you suck at your job, Westlake. Anyway, everybody knows the RAs do bed checks in fifteen-minute intervals. All they do is poke their heads in and call our names. Cory just recorded himself saying 'here' and set a phone to play the recording every fifteen minutes. It was awesome as far as escape plans go," Ricky grinned up at Chad. "I might try it some time."

Chad was too embarrassed to look the agents in the eye. "I'm going to escort this one back to his room. See yourselves out."

"The kid's a regular Ferris Bueller, Boss."

"Yeah, well, he's going to be a dead Ferris Bueller if we don't find him before the killer does."

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! <strong>


	3. Wounds

Love to my readers, reviewers, subscribers and those who favorited. You have all been so generous with your time and attention!

*edited and re-posted.*

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 3: Wounds<strong>_

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><p><strong>11:42 AM<strong>

**Outside NCIS Headquarters**

**Washington Navy Yard**

"Isn't that your little reporter friend?"

Tony followed Gibbs' finger across the foggy expanse and groaned. There was Tippy, flopped across one of the benches in front of headquarters like an unstringed marionette. His jacket was splayed open, exposing his Egyptian cotton shirt to the thick, unrelenting raindrops spewing from the angry sky. His head was lolled back; a silver flask nestled between his thighs. Tony jogged ahead of Gibbs, hoping to run the nuisance off before the boss got involved. As Tony approached, the harsh stench of whiskey snaked into his nostrils and churned his stomach.

"Really, Tippy? _Really? _Congratz, you've stooped to a new low," Tony hissed, giving the other man's shoe a kick for good measure. "What the hell are you doing back here?"

"Waiting, obviously," Tippy enunciated perfectly, grey eyes gleaming with a brumal arrogance. "I have something for you."

Tony rolled his eyes. Even strong booze couldn't take the prat down a peg. "I thought I was perfectly clear: I'm not helping—"

"Oh, trust me, you will."

"Listen, you autocratic son of a—"

A gruff voice interrupted Tony's fury. "I thought I told you to play catch up on your own time, Sherbrook."

"Agent Gibbs," Tippy straightened and smiled guilefully. "I apologize for the intrusion."

"Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness," Gibbs grunted, scowling at the cloud of whiskey vapor wafting from the other man's pores. He took a sip of coffee, glaring at Tippy over the plastic rim. "In your case I hope it's a sign you're leaving."

"Oh, this'll be quick," Tippy replied with feigned politeness as he reached into the brown leather satchel beside him. He produced a manila envelope and thrust it toward Tony, grinning at his hesitant glare. "Oh relax, DiNo. There's no magic plague dust on it."

Tony kept his eyes on the envelope. "What is it?"

"Just something I picked up from a source at Eggleston."

Tony instantly paled at the mention of their alma mater. A gelid gust of anger seized his fists. He stuffed them in his pockets to keep them at bay. "I told you—"

Tippy stood, invading Tony's personal space. The reporter's eyes were wintry and flat, like the frozen Potomac. Yet beneath ever-changing hues of grey and blue, Tony could see the raging waves of agony and indignation roaring beneath the ice.

He couldn't help but be reminded of a boy. A broken, gutted boy shuffling vacantly around school. His pain a constant companion, gnawing faithfully at his heels. The boy trudged on, a shroud of ice glazing his eyes, oblivious to the voices calling to him from the surface.

"Edmund Bascomb was awarded a full-time teaching fellowship at Eggleston this morning," Tippy's cold voice drew Tony from the depths of his past. "You remember Baz, don'tcha DiNo? I know _I_ haven't forgotten."

The memories sloshed and swirled, a teeming tornado of images twisted and tugged viciously. The shrill screams of Funkadelic's 'Maggot Brain' pulsated against Tony's skull. The bass of his teenage fists pounding desperately against the Red Camero's hot, foggy windows vibrated his brain. The squalling guitar, the sour laughter, the salty tears—all writhed like leaves in the sharp wind of Tony's regrets.

"What do ya say, Agent Gibbs?" Tippy jeered, eyes glued to Tony's. "Think he remembers?"

"You need to go," Gibbs' voice hardened to steel. "Now."

"He starts in the fall," Tippy twisted the knife. "Sixth grade. Pre-Algebra."

"That's enough, Sherbrook!"

"Is Gibbs right, DiNo? Is it enough to make you understand what's at stake and why I need you to fix it?"

Oh, Tony understood all right. But understanding didn't obscure the revolting images or deafen the sickening sounds. There was definitely logic embedded in Tippy's agenda. Unfortunately, logic wouldn't help Tony sleep at night.

"I...I can't..."

He turned and ran inside, leaving a blustering Tippy and concerned Gibbs in his wake.

Gibbs angled his head at Tippy, narrowing his eyes as he closed the distant between them. "I don't know what you're trying to do…"

"True," Tippy conceded evenly. "You don't. You don't even _begin—"_

"—I don't care about that. I care about him."

Tippy scoffed. "Let's see how long that lasts."

Gibbs lips spread into a cool, keen line. "You're done. Stay away."

"Not a chance, Agent Gibbs," Tippy bared his teeth in a feral grin. "DiNo—"

"His name is Tony."

"You say 'Tony', I say tomato," he returned the envelope to his briefcase and slung it over his shoulder. "But I'm not calling the whole thing off."

With that, he pivoted on his heel and into the fog, whistling the melody to 'Maggot Brain' as he went.

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><p><strong>12:00 PM<strong>

**NCIS Men's Restroom**

**Washington Naval Yard**

Tony retched, his sweaty knuckles white from gripping the toilet seat like a lifeline. He dug frantically through his lungs, in search of desperately needed air. However, all he managed to do was send fiery clumps of bile foaming up his swollen throat.

His demons glided around him, taunting and leering. Baz Bascomb led the charge, laughing like a vulture's caw. The guitar bayed on, barely drowning out the harrowing screams.

He retched again and again, but his stomach wouldn't budge. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't rid himself of the jagged shards of shame. They would always be there, festering.

"Tony?"

Shit.

McGee.

"You in here? Gibbs wants you in autopsy. Ducky's got something."

Tony absently remembered propelling across the bullpen, barely registering McGee and Bishop's befuddled frowns as he raced for the bathroom.

"Everything all right?"

No!

"Yup," Tony lied, cringing at his croaky voice. He got off his knees and plastered on a grin. "Well, if you don't count projectile vomiting like Linda Blair in the Exorcist."

"You aren't contagious, are you?"

Tony practically heard the germophobia yank McGee's voice up an octave. "Nah, probably just bad Chinese."

"We both had Chinese!"

Yanking open the stall, Tony stumbled over to the sink and drenched his face. He stared numbly at his reflection. "My condolences."

"I don't have anymore sick da—" he paused mid whine, no doubt taking in Tony's red eyes and puffy cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"Besides a very probable and extremely inconvenient case of food poisoning, nothing."

McGee was undeterred. "Is this about Tippy?"

"No, unless the Sherbrooks have branched into the cheap Hunan take out industry."

The younger agent raked him with an unsettled eye. "I haven't seen you lose control like that in a long time."

"Tippy brings out the worst in me. Much like you going all Nurse Nightingale."

"Oh, using sarcasm to deflect," McGee folded his arms and smirked. "Wow, suddenly I believe you."

"Read my lips McNursemaid: I. Am. Fine. Now, what did you and Bishop get out of Manning?"

"Very little. He saw the killer carrying the body, but he didn't make out any distinguishable characteristics for the sketch."

"Was that fear talking?"

"Unfortunately, no. Manning was varsity track sprinter in high school. As soon as he saw and I quote 'a dude carrying a chick over his shoulder like bag of laundry' he got out of there 'faster than Martha Stewart sold her stock in ImClone'."

"So he left the kid and the killer in his dust. What a stand up guy. So, I saw you and Bishop holding a nerdtastic campfire over at your computer. What'd you turn up?"

"Abby's buddy at DYRS was able to forward Cory's entire case file from the D.C. Child and Family Services Agency. Before DYRS, he was in CFSA foster care starting at eight."

"His case manager at McNevin said he's been in foster care since he was five."

"He's been a ward of _D.C._ since he was eight. Before that, he was a ward of the Commonwealth of Virginia under the care of Botetourt County Department of Social Services. His foster parents were Neil and Cordelia Forsythe of Daleville, Virginia."

"How'd he wind up in a system over two hundred miles away?"

"We're working on that. For some reason, his Botetourt County files are sealed. All we know is he was removed from the Forsythes in June '08 and placed in a D.C. group home that August. We're checking into all of his old placements. Maybe he stayed in touch with some people, hopefully trusted somebody enough to turn to."

Tony clasped his shoulder. "Nice job."

"Listen, Tony. I know you don't like being—"

"Coddled? Annoyed?"

"Please, you love being the pampered center of attention. Seriously, I'm not trying to pry…"

"Yes you are, but thanks. I'm glad you care. Now, out damn spot! You know Gibbs doesn't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

><p><strong>12:16 PM<strong>

**NCIS Autopsy**

**Washington Navy Yard**

"Ah, Tony. How nice of you to join us."

"Sorry about that, Ducky. I had a biological matter to attend to."

"I trust you're in good health."

Tony struggled to keep his cool under Gibbs' probing scrutiny. He squared his shoulders and looked his boss in the eye "Just a bug. Nothing I can't handle."

"Hmm. Well, there is that rather nasty flu going round. Do you have a fever? Experiencing chills? If you still feel grotty in an hour or so, do let—"

"Duck, if he says he's fine," Gibbs looked pointedly at Tony. "He's fine. Back to the body."

"Yes, poor Mrs. Villalobos. Take a look at her left arm, won't you. Do you see this?"

'This' was a red patchwork of dry, flaky skin. Some areas were small, angry isles of sores, rusty with the dried blood. A river of thin, crimson lines connected the areas like an abounding river.

Tony shrugged, "Looks like eczema to me."

"I thought so too. However, further examination found several blisters and lesions in various stages of healing on her back and thighs. They resembled a sunburn."

"Hasn't been sunny for months, Duck."

"Precisely, Jethro. I believe she was having a Porphyria flare up."

Tony glanced between the body and the medical examiner. "Uh, in laymen's terms…"

"Porphyrias are a group of rare, familial genetic disorders, in which heme, an important part of hemoglobin, is not properly produced. I'm quite sure she was unaware of her condition."

"Why, Duck?"

"Well, when I had Abby perform some blood work to confirm my suspicion, she discovered small traces of fetal cells in Mrs. Phillips-Villalobos' blood stream."

"She was pregnant? Ah, man. Tim mentioned she and her husband were eager—"

"No, she wasn't pregnant, Tony. A circumstance she achieved through medical means."

"She had an abortion?"

"Yes, a medical abortion via what's colloquially referred to as the abortion pill."

"When, Duck?"

"Judging by the age of the scabbed sores and the small amount of residual cells in her bloodstream, I'd say the procedure couldn't have been more than a month and a half ago. Since the pill was used, she wasn't more than twelve weeks along. "

"How do the sores play into this?"

"Ah, yes, they were the tell-tell sign, Tony. I believe the procedure's Mifepristone–misoprostol combination regimen engendered a Porphyrias flare up. Had a physician been aware of her condition, he or she wouldn't have prescribed the regimen as Porphyrias is a contraindicate, or an indication that Medical Abortion should not be used in the case in question."

"Okay, that's awesome work Dr. Sherlock, but I smell an episode of the Maury show a-comin' 'cause Corporal Villalobos hasn't been on American soil long enough to conceive that kid."

"Ah, yes, the fetor of infidelity is definitely about."

"Yeah, but a jilted lover doesn't explain the other four women, Duck."

"True. However, I'll wager that if you dig into her whereabouts while her husband was abroad, you'll find more answers. Perhaps she encountered her killer before that fateful night. "

Gibbs' cell phone took that moment to vibrate. "Yeah, McGee. We'll be right up," he flipped his phone shut and turned to Tony. "They've got a lead on the boy."

* * *

><p>"One of Bishop's NSA contacts got us access to the kid's unsealed file," McGee started as soon as Gibbs and Tony exited the elevator. "Turns out, Cory Forsythe didn't magically appear in Washington. He was brought by a concerned neighbor."<p>

"This is Stover Lee MacDonald," Bishop flicked on the plasma and the team was greeted with a ruddy, wind-carved face beaming at them from the old man's DMV photo. "MacDonald had a farm…did I just say that?"

"E-I-E-I-O," Tony quipped. "So, I'm guessing on his farm he had a neighbor?"

"The Forsythe's estate was four miles down the road," she continued. "According to Virginia state court affidavits, MacDonald drove the boy to the emergency room at Washington Hospital Center after discovering bruises and lacerations on his back, ribs, and legs."

"Okay, so why drive two hundred miles to an emergency room?" Tony asked.

"Apparently Forsythe is a powerful name in Botetourt County," she answered. "Neil Forsythe was the family's golden boy and heir apparent. MacDonald didn't want to make waves for fear of retaliation."

"And he was right," McGee added. "Not long after Neil and his wife were convicted of felony cruelty to a child, ol' MacDonald lost his farm and was practically run out of town."

"Where's he now?"

McGee looked up from his phone. "Twenty miles away in a retirement community in Rockville, Boss. I'm texting the address now."

"If that kid went anywhere, it was to his savior. That's good work Bishop, McGee," Gibbs nodded his approval on his way to the elevator. "DiNozzo, with me."

"Right behind ya, Boss."

* * *

><p>-One, I recommend you guys listen to Maggot Brain. Because A: Eddie Hazel was a God among men. B: It'll really help you understand Tony's mood and memories.<p>

-Two, if any medical professionals, students, or enthusiasts read the scene in autopsy and flew into a rage about the inaccurate writing—my apologies. It was a mixture of Mayo Clinic, an article published in a medical journal, and AP Bio talking. Don't shoot the medium!

-Last, but certainly not least: **Thank you for reading!** If possible, please leave some feedback. This is my first case fic and while I'm enjoying it, I'm anxious to hear how it's working for you. Thank you and until next time...


	4. Heroes and Demons

_Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, subscribed, and favorited during my hiatus._

* * *

><p><strong>*Trigger Warnings:<strong> Mentions of child abuse.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 4: Heroes and Demons<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>2:00 PM<strong>

**Salisbury Gardens Retirement Community**

**Rockville, MD**

The ride into Rockville had been relatively silent, save for the slight gurgle of the Charger's HEMI. Although Gibbs kept his eyes on the road, the cabin swelled with his tangible concern. Tony pressed his nose against the cool glass, watching numbly as the snow mantled streets and leafless trees weaved into a bleak quilt of grey.

He inwardly wrestled with his demons, desperately fighting to shoo them away from his mouth and from Gibbs' ears. Yet they clawed forward, fighting to pry Tony's lips apart with ferocious determination. He mashed his mouth against the frigid window, hoping the cold would freeze the secrets on his tongue. Entangled in the struggle, Tony hadn't noticed the car stop.

He barely felt Gibbs' hand curl around his shoulder…

_Icy forearms pin his shoulders. Calloused fingers, like steel wool, grabbing..._

Tony instinctively slapped away the invading touch. "Don't," he growled through gritted teeth, eyes wild and blazing. "Touch. Me."

A red, angry fog coiled and writhed, obscuring Tony's mind. He was drifting, being pulled under as the violent current of memories roared forth to drown him. The waves squeezed his lungs like a corset. His demons cackled and danced, thoroughly enjoying themselves.

"Tony!"

His eyes cleared and he found a Gibbs staring, the boss's palms up and visible. "Breathe. You're all right…"

Tony swallowed, extinguishing the scalding rage in his throat. "Sorry. I uh…"

"What's going on?"

He bit down on his bottom lip, begging his brain to concentrate on something besides the truth. "It's noth—"

"—Bullshit," Gibbs snapped and Tony flinched. Gibbs' eyes softened. "I know you."

Except he didn't. Gibbs didn't know the confused, cowardly boy behind the Tom Ford shades. And a far as Tony was concerned, they'd never be introduced.

"You can trust me," Gibbs promised, earnest and firm.

He wanted to. He wanted terribly to be honest. But the thought of Gibbs knowing about Tippy, about Baz, about him…

No, Tony couldn't let that happen.

He gnawed at his bottom lip to keep the floodgates closed, blinking stoically at Gibbs' compassionate stare. "Can we drop this?"

"Okay," Gibbs replied with an ease that surprised Tony. He turned and opened his door.

Tony exhaled a relieved sigh and tumbled out of the car. He closed the door and paused, glancing over the roof of the Charger at Gibbs. "Hey, Boss?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm okay. Really. It's just," he rummaged through his words, searching for the thinnest rinds of truth. "Baz was a bully, a USDA Prime asshole. He did some real damage with malice aforethought. Tippy bore the brunt of it. He never got over it."

"And you?"

"The past is the past. Tippy just has a knack for dredging up the worst of it."

"And Sherbrook's special project?"

"It's about bullying in exclusive prep schools. Tippy thinks having a Fed on the ticket'll scare Eggleston's Board of Trustees into yanking up the rug and publicly acknowledging the dirt underneath."

Gibbs eyeballed him with an inscrutable expression. Beneath the stone, Tony knew the man's gut was comparing what he'd heard and what he suspected, weighing Tony's words like meat at a market.

"Okay," Gibbs pronounced and headed up the stone path.

Except it wasn't 'okay'.

It hadn't been for a long time.

And if Tippy had his way, it never would be.

* * *

><p>Salisbury Gardens, a town within a town, resided in the heart of the intergenerational planned community of Fern Ranch. The grounds were lush and opulent, sprawling lawns and thick hedges adorned with a bright mantle of fresh snow. MacDonald lived in the independent living section; an identical sea of brightly colored apartment buildings tucked on the outskirts of the property. Tony and Gibbs waded silently through the canyon of pastel stucco, each ignoring the Tippy sized elephant looming between them.<p>

"It says they have a spa, Boss," Tony gushed, looking up from the brochure he'd pulled up on his phone. "A spa, complete with Swedish massages and herbal rubs. Wow! They have a Michelin and Relais Chateaux starred chef too!"

Gibbs scoffed. "Medicare, Medicaid, and Social Security sure aren't footing the bill for all this flashy crap."

"Then who is? 'Cause MacDonald left Botetourt county flat broke. No way he has the liquid assets to cover this."

Gibbs shrugged and trudged forward.

Tony cleared his throat and tugged at his ear. "So, uh, you think the kid's actually here? I mean, maybe he figured this would be the first place somebody'd look."

"He feels safe here. For him this place is worth its weight in gold."

Gibbs' basement flashed across Tony's mind. "Understandable," he replied soberly. His eyes roamed the buildings in his line of sight and he grinned when he struck gold. "On the right. Number 325. I'll do the honors."

After beat the door opened, revealing a yawning, pajama clad Stover MacDonald. He was a ruddy man with a creased, triangular face and thinning auburn hair peppered with streaks of white. His eyes were brown and sluggish under his thick grey eyebrows.

Tony flashed his badge. "Hello, Mr. MacDonald. NCIS. I'm Special Agent Tony DiNozzo. This is Special Agent Gibbs. We're here about—"

MacDonald scrutinized their badges and groaned. He blocked the threshold with his portly body and poked his head into the hallway, scanning the area. "Get in," he whispered, urgently waving them inside and quickly closing the door. "These neighbors are nosier than bloodhounds."

Tony smiled knowingly. "I've got one of those across the hall. So, we're here about—"

"—what's that damn boy done now?" MacDonald's southern accent tightened around the question.

"You get visits about Cory Forsythe often?" Gibbs asked.

"Cops, world-weary social workers, burned out public defenders: take your pick," he folded his burly arms and sized Gibbs up. "NCIS, huh? I'm guessin' Cory mugged a sailor…"

"Not quite."

MacDonald arched an intrigued eyebrow. "All righty then," the old man stepped around the agents and beckoned them with a curt nod toward the living room. "Might as well sit and talk."

Tony trudged behind Gibbs and MacDonald, taking in everything from the apartment's high ceilings to the paint stained rustic leather furniture. Paintings and sketches in various stages of completion adorned walls, the small mantel, and the coffee table in front of an old tube television. Tony plucked a framed 8x10 painting from mantel: A yellow shingled, gablefront house with a hipped white roof being devoured by fire. The flames roared like angry dragons from the glassless windows, their orange and scarlet mouths licking greedily at the quaint house. Tony could practically hear the crackle and hiss of the blaze, its black smoke coiling up his nose like a Texas rat snake.

"This your work?" Tony asked.

"No," MacDonald answered, pride lifting the corners of his thin lips. "that's Cory's."

"You see him often?" Gibbs inquired.

"Nope. He painted that before…" His words trailed off in a wisp of sadness.

Tony shook his head to clear the burgeoning memories away from his own mind. He focused on the painting, frowning at the work's fiery theme. "What's with the fire? He's not gonna go all Drew Barrymore in Firestarter if we piss him off, is he?"

"Doubt it," MacDonald chuckled, grateful for the lightness in Tony's tone. He eased into a recliner. "Kid's soft as a lady's glove. Wouldn't hurt a soul."

"But he'd mug one," Gibbs reminded.

"Never said he was a saint," MacDonald smirked. "So, don't keep me in suspense. If the boy didn't mug anyone…"

"Cory's a murder witness," Gibbs bore into the other man's eyes. "We're bringing him in."

MacDonald leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes wearily. He seemed to agonize over Gibbs' words, his wizened mouth twisted in thought. When he opened his eyes, they were brooding and conflicted.

He finally blew a sigh out his nose. "A murder witness. What's that gotta do with me?"

"You protected him once."

MacDonald's face remained grave, though he didn't flinch away from Gibbs' challenging stare. "That was then."

Gibbs didn't let up. "You know something about the importance of witnesses in criminal investigations."

MacDonald's eyes flashed. "Now hol' on, that's—

"Different? Not really. The reason Cory's alive is because you had the balls to come forward."

A flash of pain sparked in MacDonald's eyes. He blinked it away. "I can't help y'all."

"You were Cory's art teacher?" Tony took over, deciding to switch tactics.

That got a wistful smirk out of the old man. "Somethin' like that. I had an art studio in my garage. I caught Cory stealin' colored pencils when he was five. I promised I wouldn't tell those...people...if he'd let me give 'im weekly lessons."

"How'd that go over?"

"Cordelia was all for it, figured it'd give the kid some 'culture'. But Neil…" he spat the name like an epithet. "He wudn't happy 'bout it. Bastard wudn't happy 'bout much of anythin'."

"Neil didn't want the boy?"

"Cory was Cordelia's project. All Neil liked about the arrangement was the free publicity for the family business. 'Sides that, he hated that boy. Now Cory, he was by no means an easy kid, but Neil was a son of a bitch. Cory was too strong-willed, had lotta pride in 'im. Neil couldn't stand it. So he 'cided to beat it out of 'im."

"Where was Cordelia?" Tony asked.

MacDonald snorted. "Probably watchin', grateful it wasn't her."

Tony winced and stuffed his fists in his pockets.

Gibbs, taking note of Tony's sudden pallor, picked up the questioning. "When did you discover the abuse?"

"One day the wind caught Cory's shirt and lifted it. Those gashes... Cory wouldn't say, but I 'spect it was a ridin' crop..." he paused, his voiced tinted with grief. "I'll never forget the way he looked at me, those big 'ol eyes, so betrayed, wonderin' why I didn't help sooner."

MacDonald's words were like searing needles in Tony's skull. The blistering shame prickled mercilessly until his memory conjured up another boy with pleading eyes and a shattered soul. The rancid stench of old guilt billowed like smoke as Tony struggled to smoother the fiery screams and images.

"But you saved him," Tony affirmed, almost desperate for some resolution. "You got him out."

MacDonald scoffed and bore into Tony's eyes. "I ain't no hero. I suspected and I didn't say a solitary word 'cause I was afraid of losin' my damn farm. I'll go to my grave 'shamed of myself for what I 'llowed to go on."

"Do you want Cory to know that kind of guilt?" Gibbs posed.

MacDonald's spine snapped straight. " 'Course not!"

"Well, that's exactly what'll happen. Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but one day, when he least expects it, the past will come knocking. Maybe, when he's your age, he'll read about a murder in the paper and remember the woman in the park or the countless other women he could've saved. Maybe he'll—"

"—All right!" the old man shouted resignedly. "Lord, forgive me."

He stood and ambled defeatedly toward the sofa. Sighing, he plucked the thick cushions from the frame and resentfully cast them aside. MacDonald shot a final glare at Gibbs and released the sofa bed.

There, curled in a fetal position within the depth of the frame, was Cory Forsythe.

* * *

><p>Without a word, Cory unceremoniously hoisted himself up and dusted his weathered jeans. Cory stretched his lanky limbs, rolling his long neck like a boxer as he studied the agents with a gaze that was both curious and guarded.<p>

"I'm sorry, son."

Cory shrugged at MacDonald, jerkily swiping his bangs behind his ear. "It's not your fault Mac," he answered almost reassuringly. Turning his vacant gaze on Gibbs, he asked: "What now?"

"You're coming with us."

"Quality time with the cops. Funsies," he drawled sarcastically and started out of the room. "I'll get my stuff."

Tony scoffed. "The Oscar for best 'Unlikely Scenario' goes to…"

The boy pitched a scowl at Tony. "Screw you!"

"Cornelius!" MacDonald chastised. He glanced apologetically at Tony. "His bag's in my room. I'll grab it."

Gibbs' phone took that moment to ring. He stepped toward the front door, out of earshot. "Yeah, McGee?"

"Hey Cop, 2004 called," Cory grumbled at Gibbs' back. "It wants its flip phone back."

Tony smirked. "Maybe you could be generous and offer him one of the many stolen iPhones in your repository."

Tony was sure the boy had hit him with a substandard teenage come back. It was probably mildly witty and oozing with the irony popular with adolescent assholes. However, Tony didn't care.

He was too busy analyzing the green and brown of the brat's irises, trying to juxtapose them against the hazy snapshots in his memory. The hostile slit of Cory's almond eyes and the straight, razor-thin blade of his mouth—Tony knew that look.

A face fluttered forward…

"DiNozzo!"

And it was gone.

"Move out. McGee's got a lead. He tracked down one of Trina Villalobos' girlfriends. He's got her on ice."

"Right behind you, Boss."

" 'Right behind you, Boss.' What are you, his lap dog?"

"Loyal St. Bernard, actually," Tony quipped.

Deflated, Cory took his tattered backpack from MacDonald's outstretched hand. "Guess I'll see you around Mac."

The old man sighed and clasped the boy's shoulder. "Do what's right. You hear me son?"

"Yeah, I hear you. But you're wrong though. Both of you," he fixed Gibbs with a cold stare. "I don't feel guilty and I never will. Guilt is a waste of time. So there's nothing you can say, or do, that'll make me help you."

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for reading everyone! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!<em>


	5. Debts

Sending love to all my readers, reviewers, subscribers, and to those of you who favorited. I'm very grateful for your generosity of time and support!

**To anonymous reviewers:** I feel terrible about my inability to thank you individually. Henceforth, I'll respond to you on my profile. I'll leave the replies up between updates to ensure you see them. Thank you!

*edited and re-posted.*

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 5: Debts<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>3:00 PM<strong>

**Interstate 495**

**McLean, VA**

The ride out of Rockville was just as quiet as the ride in, which unfortunately for Tony, left him stewing in his thoughts. He couldn't get MacDonald off his mind. The old man's contrite eyes and anguished voice were harbingers of a future Tony was terrified to face. Would his conscious forever be obligated to a betrayed, dispirited little boy?

Tippy thought so.

Tippy, Tony scoffed inwardly, such a self-righteous bastard! He was so 'holier-than-thou' and indignant about every-frickin-thing. Harping on about old stuff, _kid stuff_, was a colossal waste of time as far as Tony was concerned.

Except, it was more than that. Tippy, though irritating and obnoxious, was right. What happened at Eggleston was…

No! He wasn't going there…

Even so, Tony couldn't help but think, as he stole a glance at Cory Forsythe in the rearview mirror, about two boys. One grew to live behind a fortress of stoicism, work, and once upon a time: copious women. The other became a man driven by obsession and resentment. Looking at Cory, slumped against the driver's side backdoor, clinging to his tattered backpack like a life-preserver, Tony wondered where the boy's demons would lead him.

"Instead of staring at me, could you maybe like, turn on the heater? My balls are like bon-bons!"

"That's bad news," Tony deadpanned, making no movement toward the climate controls. He turned and gave the kid a once-over, matching Cory's insolent glare with a blasé calm. "Didn't your parents teach you the magic word?"

Tony regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. He could imagine the sort of lessons Neil Forsythe had dished out with his riding crop. No sense in further alienating the boy by dredging up old ghosts.

Cory spoke before Tony could apologize. "I don't have parents," he droned factually, as if reading a history book. "They're gone."

Tony remembered the painting in MacDonald's living room. "In a fire?"

Surprise lit up Cory's round face, but he immediately covered it with a surly scowl. "I'm not stupid. I know what you're doing."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Trying to like, relate to me so I'll talk. I saw something like this on The First 48. The lady cop was all tender and Mary Poppinsy, and by the time she was done, the guy ended up snitching for a hug."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Reality TV, there's a place for empirical evidence."

"Point is: it won't work. I know nothing in life's free."

"And here I was hoping you'd help us because you have a conscience and believe in paying it forward."

"I'm not Haley Joel Osment," Cory scoffed. "I don't owe anybody anything."

"Except Stover MacDonald," Gibbs chimed in.

A spasm of raw pain dulled the boy's eyes. "Yeah? Well, I'm already paying him back."

Tony arched a brow. "Really? How's that?"

Tony heard the boy's breath hitch. Cory's cheeks reddened as he squeezed his backpack until his knuckles gleamed white. He pushed himself further against the door, his hands trembling, probably inwardly punishing himself for saying too much.

"Nothing," he deflected flatly. He shut his eyes and his hands stopped trembling. When he re-opened them, all traces of upset had been scourged from his face. "Forget it."

Tony's hackles were still up, though he was careful not to telegraph. He reached over and flicked on the heater. "We're not trying to freeze you to death, kid."

"Whatever," he shrugged, his face an impassive mask. "It's fine."

DiNozzo nodded and returned his eyes back upfront. It unnerved him the way the kid could instantly stifle his emotions. However, even through the boy's shields, Tony saw the sadness and apprehension. He had an air of indelible grief about him, as if he was permanently mourning something old and irreplaceable.

Tony knew that look. He'd seen it before: on himself, in the mirror, when the past slipped through the cracks, on Tippy outside headquarters. Yet, for some reason, the dolefulness dimming the boy's gaze still looked foreign in the familiar eyes Tony still couldn't place.

* * *

><p><strong>3:52 PM<strong>

**NCIS Bullpen**

**Washington D.C.**

McGee met them by the elevator, gingerly cradling three cups of coffee against his chest. "The victim's friend is in conference room two, Boss."

"That's good work, McGee," Gibbs relieved the young man of a paper cup and took a satisfied swig. Sufficiently caffeinated, he barked: "Dorneget!"

Ever Gibbs' yes-man, Probationary NCIS Special Agent Ned Dorneget immediately came bumbling out of the bullpen's sea of cubicles. He halted clumsily in front of Gibbs, his expression hovering between biddable and skittish. "Yes, sir…I mean, Gibbs?"

"This is Cory. Take him to the break room. Get him some lunch. He doesn't leave the building."

"Yes, si—Gibbs," Dorneget responded dutifully. He cast a cautious glance at the boy, who was glowering at the young Agent in a way Tony was sure the kid believed menacing. "Uh…right this way…"

Cory backed away. "Whoa, would'ya mean, 'doesn't leave the building'? I'm not under arrest!"

"You're a material witness, kid," Tony explained, rubbing his temples to massage away the impending migraine. "Means we can hold you, complements of the Patriot Act."

Cory's eyes flashed and his fists clenched. "Bullshit! You can't—"

"—we can and we are," Gibbs intervened with icy firmness. He fastened his razor-edged glare on the boy and twisted the knife. "It's the break room or a YSC holding cell. Your choice."

Cory shivered as Gibbs' frosty words penetrated. Tony swore he saw a glint of fear tint the boy's face, but it passed quickly. Cory shoved his quivering hands in his pockets and thrust his chin up defiantly, setting his jaw and looking Gibbs in the eye.

"Fine," he bit out. "Here's good."

Gibbs nodded curtly. "Great. DiNozzo, with me," and with that, he started toward the conference room.

"C'mon Cory," Dorneget, still wary, reached tentatively for the boy's shoulder. "The break room's over here."

"Whatever," Cory snapped, dodging the agent's grasp. "After you."

Tony grinned at the neon "rescue me" sign flashing on Ned's forehead and slapped him on the shoulder. "Relax, Probie. The kid doesn't bite."

Defeated, Dorneget plodded down the hall, a strutting Cory in tow.

"Hey, _Probie_?" Tony heard the boy call as he walked off. "If Agent DiNoodle's Gibbs' loyal St. Bernard, are you his spaniel?"

"It's DiNozzo!" he yelled across the bullpen.

"Whatever," Cory smirked over his shoulder before disappearing around the corridor.

McGee let out a whistle. "Nice kid."

"Yup, he's a regular Wally Cleaver," Tony quipped, plucking a cup of coffee from McGee's arm.

"Time isn't on our side. If he doesn't cooperate, another woman could…" he trailed off, his blue eyes haunted.

"He said something in the car," Tony paused, adopting a reflective look. "About paying MacDonald back."

"Like revenge?"

"More like a debt. You know, MacDonald does live in a fancy-schmancy retirement complex…"

"I'll poke around his finances."

"Thanks, McGee."

"Sure thing," he moved for his desk, but stopped midway. "Hey, Tony?"

Tony cringed. The kid was still worried. Great.

He slathered on a friendly smile and turned around. "Yeah?"

"You sure you're okay?"

"It's just food poisoning, Tim."

"Yeah, okay…"

Though he nodded, Tony could see he wasn't unconvinced. "I'm fine," the lie tasted stale on his tongue. "Now get crackin'! Time isn't on our side, remember?"

* * *

><p><strong>4:00 PM<strong>

**NCIS Conference Room**

**Washington D.C.**

"I just can't believe she's dead…"

Gibbs and Tony watched silently as Kendra Wilkes, Trina Villalobos' best friend, stared numbly at the disposable cup of coffee in front of her. She stuck a stubborn blonde strand behind her ear and reached for her purse, rifling wildly through it.

Gibbs' "No smoking in a federal building, ma'am" came before she could free her coping mechanism from its box. She frowned, but put her Virginia Slims away nonetheless. She shrugged her shoulders and hugged herself, suddenly feeling cold and vulnerable.

"We know this is a difficult time…"

"I think this goes beyond difficult don't you, Agent DiNozzo?" Kendra snapped, eyes suddenly ablaze.

Tony nodded his head apologetically. "I suppose it does."

Kendra's body went limp, her head hanging limply on her neck. "I'm sorry. It's just," she reached over and took a long, hard sip of coffee, seemingly oblivious to its temperature. "We were friends since high school. I don't understand how someone could do…_that…_?"

"We're doing our best to find her killer, but we need your help," Gibbs spoke compassionately. "And your honesty."

She nodded absently, focusing on her emptied cup. "I owe her that much."

"Did you know Trina was pregnant?" Gibbs asked.

She threw a hand over her mouth, her words muddled by her fingers as she spoke. "Oh God! Poor Emilio!"

"The baby," Gibbs held her gaze. "Wasn't Emilio's."

"Oh," her voice thickened with emotion and she reached for her purse again, only to tear up when she remembered she couldn't smoke. "Oh no."

Tony immediately pounced on her lack of surprise. "Was Trina seeing someone else?"

She looked away. "She and Emilio, they were, you know, trying to have…"

"She wasn't more than twelve weeks along," Gibbs supplied gently.

Kendra squirmed uncomfortably. "I, well…"

Tony clasped a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I know you want to protect her privacy, but we believe Trina's killer may have targeted her because she was a Marine wife. Did she ever mention someone new suddenly paying her lots of attention? Was she lonely while Emilio was deployed? Is that why she started seeing someone?"

She sucked in her lips and shut her eyes, softly shaking her head. When she opened them, they brimmed with tears. "I begged her to end it!"

"With who?" Tony probed.

"She never told me his name. I admit, I can be umm...judgmental. When I found out she was cheating, I kinda freaked out."

"Totally understandable. Did she tell you anything about him? Did you hear any phone calls—"

Her eyes lit up. "—yeah! We were out clubbing a few months ago. She saw she had a missed call and flipped. Started going on and on about how she'd 'screwed everything up'."

"Did you get a look at the number?"

"I tried, but she went ape shit when she saw me with her phone. The weird thing was it wasn't actually hers. It was some janky, Wal-Mart pre-paid thing. She's a total Apple fan-girl. No way she'd abandon her iPhone. When I pushed, she said he gave it to her and that he had one too."

Tony looked up at Gibbs and mouthed, "Burn phone."

"He did this, didn't he? If I hadn't acted like a self-righteous bitch, I'd have more to give you. I just thought she was dickmatized!"

Gibbs arched a brow. "Dickmatized?"

Tony cleared his throat and blushed. "The opposite of pussy-whipped, Boss."

"Oh," Gibbs nodded with befuddled understanding. "Okay."

"Sorry to interrupt," McGee pushed open the door after a few knocks. He glanced at Tony as he waved a manila folder. "I found what you wanted."

When Gibbs nodded, Tony followed an accomplished McGee outside. "Whatcha got?"

"This," McGee declared triumphantly, thrusting his findings toward Tony. "Will get the ball rolling."

Tony flipped through the contents and rewarded McGee with a genuine grin. "Oh, yeah, this'll work."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you for reading.<strong>__ I have most of chapter six written. I'll post it soon!_


	6. Emergency Caring

Sorry for the long wait. I hurt my hand playing rugby so typing wasn't an option. But I'm back now with a new chapter! Happy reading!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 6: Emergency Caring<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>4:15 PM <strong>

**NCIS Break Room**

**Washington D.C.**

Tony sauntered in to find Cory at a table, hunched intently over a worn sketchpad, an assortment of pencils fanned around him in a jumbled rainbow. A half eaten vending machine sandwich sat long forgotten by his elbow. The boy was a picture of concentration, sketching away with careful precision.

Dorneget, hovering by the door like a skittish hummingbird, saw Tony first. "Can I go now?"

Tony heard Cory's sketchbook close with a brisk snap, though he kept his eyes on Dorneget. "I dunno know, Probie. Can you?"

Ned cleared his throat, though he remained still. "Uh, I have assignments," he replied tentatively.

"Go ahead," Tony suppressed a laugh as the young agent practically catapulted for the door. "Wait!"

Dorneget froze, knees knocking like maracas. "Sir?"

"Give him his phone."

Ned frowned. "I don't…"

"Not you," Tony snapped impatiently. "Cory, hand it over."

The boy kept his eyes on his sketchpad. "Don't have it."

"Bullshit. Hand it over."

"Seriously, I don't. Hones—"

"Don't even. Really? Jacking a federal agent, on federal property? FYI, federal judges don't do parole. You'll do the entire bid in YSC. Is a phone worth it?"

"Fine," the boy snapped and rolled his eyes. Retrieving the phone from his backpack, he tossed it at flustered a Ned. "It's last gen, anyway."

"Thanks," and with an embarrassed glance at Tony and a parting glare for Cory, Ned made his exit.

"I was gonna give it back," Cory insisted when Tony sat across from him.

"Like you were gonna give Lindsay Baker's phone back?"

Cory reached for his sandwich, eyes shining smugly. "Dunno what you're talking about," he denied around a mouthful of tuna salad.

"No? How about the phone you were selling in Anacostia Park last night?"

Cory's eyes dimmed a bit as he put his sandwich down. "Last night? I was at Mac's house."

"And before that?

"McNevin."

"McNevin? That's weird, 'cause your roomie—Ricky? —Yeah good 'ol Ricky said you snuck out after curfew and get this: left an iPhone to play your name in fifteen-minute intervals during bed checks. Nice plan, by the way."

"Uhm, Ricky's a meth head. That was probably the crank talking."

"Nah, he looked sober to me. So did Michael Manning, the guy you were selling Lindsay's phone to, when he ID'd you to my fellow agents. Oh and you wanna know who else was sober? My lab tech, when she pulled your prints off that same phone we found smack dab in the middle of a crime scene."

"So?"

" 'So', we've got you for felony theft in the first degree _and_ we can place you at the crime scene."

"Whatever," he jutted up his chin and folded his arms, though the cocky gleam in his eyes was fading. "YSC doesn't scare me. I survived the last time."

"Do you think MacDonald could survive prison?"

The arrogance plummeted off Cory's face. "What?"

"Obstructing justice is a crime, kid."

"Prison?" the boy sputtered, clearly flummoxed. "Listen, he only hid…"

"Why was he hiding you?"

" 'Cause I literally begged him! He didn't want to, but he thinks he owes me."

"He does owe you, right? Because he took so long to report the abuse…"

"I wasn't abused!" Cory slammed his fist on the table, rattling his colored pencils and surprisingly, Tony's nerves.

Those eyes, hazel and blazing, stirred something deep in Tony's memory. He'd been all about the case, but now those swirls of green and brown consumed his focus. A pang of recollection pulsed against his skull. A face glimmered, but Cory blinked and the memory evaporated.

Tony shook his head and pressed on. "Then why does he owe you?"

"He doesn't," Cory growled. He dropped his fists in his lap and sucked in a deep breath. When he spoke again his voice was impassive. "He doesn't owe me anything."

"But you owe him, right? That's why you're helping to pay for his retirement home."

Cory's jaw muscles were working overtime, his lips white from his efforts to keep them shut.

Tony opened the folder and pushed it towards Cory. "Government assistance covers most of it, but MacDonald pays the difference. Apparently he pays via automatic billpay from a pre-paid debit service. We checked the recent deposit dates against Craigslist ads for iPhones. Three of those ads came from a computer with an IP address near McNevin. The cash deposits came from an ATM two miles away from there. It's all here."

Cory thumbed through the stack of papers. He dropped his head, peering vulnerably at Tony through his bangs. "What do you want from me?"

"You said nothing in life is free. Okay, then. How about a trade? You tell me what you saw and I'll see—"

"—Sorry for interrupting. An Agent Dorneget told me I could find Cory here."

Tony scowled at the newly arrived Chad Westlake. "Actually you—"

"C'mon in, Daddy Chaddy," Cory grinned cheekily, all traces of vulnerability scoured from his face. "Agent DiNoodle here was just entrapping me into being a snitch. Isn't that illegal?"

"You should've waited for me," Westlake admonished.

"Doesn't matter," the kid stood and began stuffing his art supplies into his backpack. "Let's go."

"You're not going back to McNevin, Cornelius."

Cory froze. "They can't make me snitch!"

"That's not up to me," Westlake swished his wrist dismissively. "This is your third time running away from the center. You know—"

"No!"

"You know the rules."

"_No!"_

"I'm sorry," Westlake continued, sounding anything but. "You're going into emergency care until an adequate—"

"No," the boy's voice rattled. "Screw that! You send me back and I'm gone! I mean it," he cut his eyes at Tony. "Let's see you make a witness outta me then!"

"Westlake," Tony interceded. "Maybe now isn't the best—"

"I'm not going!"

Tony moved toward Cory, but the boy kept backing up until he was against the wall. His fists were trembling as he clenched and released as if trying to resuscitate them. His eyes, wide and feral, scrambled about the room in search of an exit.

"You're okay," Tony inched forward, palms up and visible. "Everything's fine."

Cory's breath leaked out in rapid spurts. He slid down the wall and drew his knees against his chest. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he rocked himself back and forth.

Undaunted, Tony stooped down on one knee. "You're safe," he soothed. "Do you know where you are?"

Slowly, Cory's eyes unclouded and swept the area. "Break room," he croaked. "At NC…whatever…"

"That's good. Can you stand up? Maybe have some water?"

"Water's good," he said, although he remained on the floor.

Tony took the bottle Westlake had retrieved and sat it at the boy's feet. He stood once the boy popped the cap. "We'll be outside for a bit."

* * *

><p>Westlake waited until the door closed to speak. "You're good with him. I'm sure you've worked with traumatized kids before."<p>

_Hunched up in a corner. Muffled voices gurgle above the surface. A hand reaches…_

Tony shook his head, anger drowning out the past. "What the hell was that? He was about to talk!"

"I'm sorry…"

"There are lives at stake!"

"I'm sure his new caseworker will be willing to work with you. I can wait…"

"Why'd he go off like that?" Tony interrupted hotly.

"About emergency care?"

"No, about the Cardinals losing the World Series."

Westlake sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "The Forsythes were originally an emergency placement."

"So you what, you figured you'd scare the kid shitless to make him talk?"

"I'd never intentionally harm a child," Westlake bit out indignantly. "His emergency placement has nothing to do with your investigation. Per departmental policy…"

"It's your 'departmental policy' that got him abused in the first place!"

"Now, wait...!"

"Is there a problem?"

Gibbs.

Tony stood straighter and addressed his boss. "Westlake's dumping the kid in emergency foster care."

"I'm not dump…"

Gibbs held up a hand to silence the social worker. He focused on Tony. "That affects the case, how?"

"The kid says he'll runaway if he's placed in emergency care. We lose him, we lose the dirt bag."

The older agent nodded and turned to Westlake. "Any alternatives?"

"Cory's criminal record and history of running away makes him a high-risk placement. We have limited facilities equipped to house kids like him on short notice. Now, he did violate his probation when he ran away. He could be remanded back to YSC."

"Yeah, 'cause locking him up'll make him über-forthcoming."

Tony wanted to strangle Westlake. Of course locking Cory up would solve NCIS' problem, but what about the kid? Didn't Westlake see that foisting Cory off willy-nilly had done the kid no favors?

It was easier to stash a kid away than to deal with his problems.

Tony knew that from experience.

Westlake's smug voice deposited Tony back to the present. "Do you have a better idea, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Here."

"Here?" Gibbs and Westlake asked in unison.

Tony smirked. "Hear me out, Boss. Cory's now a federal witness, making him WITSEC's responsibility. They're more equipped to deal with a flighty witness than DRYS. The kid can sleep here until the Marshalls can place him."

"So you want to remove him from DYRS care?" Westlake asked incredulously.

"What's the matter Westlake, afraid you'll lose your kickbacks?"

"Why do you care so much?" the other man retorted.

Why did he?

Because the kid had nobody? Tony at least had Gibbs and the team when the chips were down. Even Senior, in all his flashy, self-centered glory, could be counted on in a pinch.

Or was it because of those eyes?

Maybe it was because the boy reminded Tony of two broken children it was too late to save.

Instead, he asked: "Why don't you?"

Gibbs swept Tony with a probing glance. "Vance and I'll handle WITSEC. Westlake, you'll need to handle DYRS end. DiNozzo, get the kid settled in."

* * *

><p>When Tony re-entered the break room, Cory was back at the table. His shabby Vans tapped nervously against the linoleum, his body angled toward the door. He looked ready to duck or dash at a moments notice.<p>

"Sorry about the wait."

"I'm not going back to emergency care," the boy declared with a surprisingly placid tone, though he kept his eyes trained on the table.

"No, you're not," Tony informed, matching the boy's calm.

The way Cory looked up, with barely concealed desperation, stung Tony.

Cory crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze skeptical. "Really?"

"Really," Tony affirmed. "All you have to do is cooperate."

Tony could see Cory's gears turning through his eyes. The boy swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'll help you," he agreed thickly. "But about that trade… Just…look, please don't punish Mac 'cause of me, okay? I'll help you or whatever if you lay off him and make sure he can stay in his place. He already lost his farm 'cause of me. So, that's the deal. You look out for Mac and I'll look out for you."

"Deal," Tony agreed, offering his hand for the boy to shake.

Cory accepted the gesture with a sweaty palm. "Good," Cory exhaled and scooted back a bit in his chair. "So…what happens now?"

"Tell me what you saw in the park and you go into protective custody."

Cory silently processed the information. Then, comprehension morphed into panic. "What? No!" He jerked out of his chair and backed away, glaring wildly Tony. "Witness protection? So, what…you're gonna like, whisk me to New Mexico until you find the psycho? No thanks!"

"You should lay off the In Plain Sight reruns, kid," Tony chuckled. "Mary and Marshall won't be showing up any time soon."

The boy's posture relaxed and he sat back down. "Yeah, well, I'm not changing my name."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Cut the melodrama, Tod Slaughter."

The boy's brows furrowed. "Who?"

Tony stared at Cory as if questioning his sanity. "Tod Slaughter, known for playing over-the-top maniacs in film adaptations of Victorian melodramas. You know…Sweeney Todd, Jack Sheppard…"

It was Cory's turn to roll his eyes. "Whatever! The point is…"

"The point is: WITSEC has foster placements, foster placements supervised by US Marshalls. You'll be safe all around."

Cory's spine stiffened and his shoulders tensed. " 'Safe all around'," he softly parroted Tony's words. "You're sure I'll be safe… you know, from that psycho or whatever?"

Tony nodded. "You'll be safe behind closed doors, too. Now, you'll bed down here for a few days until WITSEC can place you. It's not much, but we've got some cots for agents who end up staying late."

"I guess that'll work," Cory replied with a cavalier shrug, though his eyes brimmed with a raw relief.

Tony wondered if the kid knew he couldn't lie with his eyes. "Okay, now tell me what you saw in the park."

Tony listened intently as Cory described what he'd witnessed. The boy tried to keep his tone neutral, but his voice hitched when he began describing what little he'd seen of Trina Villalobos. DiNozzo wondered if the boy's mother had been blonde like Trina; if Cory's mother's eyes had been as wide and catlike as her son's.

His memory conjured up a woman, but her face rang false even in the haze.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading everyone! I'd love to hear what you all think.<strong>

**Until next time…**


	7. Leverage

Love to all of you that have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited! Remember, anonymous reviewers can find replies on my profile.

So, almost 100 comments, over 100followers, and so many favorites: you guys definitely know how to spoil a girl! Here's a longer chapter for your troubles.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 7: Leverage<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>5:00 PM<strong>

**NCIS Bullpen**

**Washington, D.C**

"I don't get why I've gotta do this," Cory fussed, following Tony out of the break room. "I already told you everything."

"You told _me_ everything, but not Abby."

"Who?"

"Our forensic scientist," Tony explained, rounding the corner into the bullpen. "It's her job to nitpick the small stuff. She's good at finding leads in the tiniest kernels of information."

"So, what, I didn't give you enough?" Cory snapped defensively.

Tony stopped at his desk, capturing the boy in a probing stare. "I dunno, did you?"

They held each other's eyes until Cory squared his shoulders and snorted. "Yeah," he affirmed and shrugged. "Talk about no faith in a guy."

"Suspicion's part of the job," Tony tacked on a grin, which Cory returned with an insolent smirk. "Anyway, put your backpack behind my desk. I'm sure Westlake'll have the rest of your stuff sent later today."

"I've got everything," Cory replied, gently placing his overstuffed knapsack behind Tony's chair.

Tony frowned. The backpack was tattered, the straps were frayed. Stains dotted the faded black material. Patches of dark fabric had been haphazardly stitched to hide holes.

"We can get you a new backpack."

"No thanks."

"It's on its last legs, kid. Maybe—"

"It's mine," he growled.

Tony geared up for an argument, but stilled at Cory's expression. Shame and sadness filled his big eyes. Anxiety radiated from his slumped shoulders and clinched fists.

He wondered about the story behind the ratty old thing. How many foster homes had it been to? What worldly processions did it protect?

His mind wandered back to a worn red Jansport. It'd gone from boarding school to hotel, from summer camp to carry on compartments. For a while that backpack, and his father's abandonment, were the only consistencies in Tony's young life.

"No worries," Tony said casually and started toward the elevator.

"Whatever," Cory retorted coldly, but Tony didn't miss the relieved breath Cory released.

* * *

><p><strong>5:15 PM<strong>

**NCIS Forensics Laboratory **

**Washington, D.C**

Abby, McGee, and Bishop were holding a campfire at Abby's computer when Tony and Cory entered. Tony pointed out Abby in the nerd herd, cautioning the boy not to be fooled by the pigtails. Controlling his light fingers was the name of the game. Abby was way more dangerous than she looked.

"_She's_ a forensic scientist," Cory whispered, shock and awe raising his voice an octave.

" '_She'_ can hear you," Abby whipped around, lashing Cory with an icy glare that would make Gibbs proud. "Let me guess, 'I don't look like the average scientist'…"

"Well…you don't," he stammered. His eyes widened when she took a menacing step forward. "I mean…like, that's cool, you know…that you don't…"

"Stop talking," she commanded, waving her hands as if wiping away his words. "There's only one rule for you in this lab. Wanna know what it is?"

"Not particularly," the boy quipped with a half-hearted glare.

Tony smirked at Cory's attempt to save face.

"Scratch that, two rules. Rule number one: don't get sassy with Abby. Rule two: keep your prehensile parts off my equipment."

He looked confused. "My what?"

She wiggled her fingers, rolling her eyes at his indignant scowl. "Don't look so offended! I heard you jacked Ned."

Cory rolled his eyes. "It was a stupid prank!"

"That we agree on," she hissed, narrowing her bright eyes to slits. "Now, Ned might be kinda awkward…"

"I'd say bumbling," McGee supplied.

"No, clodhopping," Bishop offered.

"Let's keep it simple and go with klutzy," Tony contributed.

Abby rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Greek chorus. So, Ned may be all that, but he's our friend and it's totally shady boots to steal from friends. Stealing's wrong," she raked him with a knowing eye. "Even for the right reasons."

Tony expected a monsoon of teenage attitude and justifications. However, Cory blushed and looked down, his bangs covering his eyes. Abby reached out, intending to cup his chin, but Cory flinched and held up an arm to shield his face.

Slowly, she reached out and lowered the limb to his side. Cory's expression wavered between angry and ashamed, but he held her gaze.

She held eye contact. "We'll handle your needs. You ask for what you want. You won't always get a yes, but that's life. You don't steal from your friends."

Cory snorted, his face hard again. "We're not friends."

"Not yet," she countered, smiling now. "But you're our responsibility. It's our job to meet your needs. Stealing's unnecessary now. Capeesh?"

"Fine," he harshly agreed. He shot a bewildered glance at Tony, who responded with a smirk. Cory frowned. "Whatever."

"Next time, a 'yes' will do. Now that that's outta the way," She clapped her hands as if everything was settled. "These are Agents Tim McGee and Ellie Bishop. They're helping me create a computer simulation of the crime scene. We'd love your help."

"Whatever," he slipped, immediately blushing under Abby's pointed glare. With a rueful smirk, he amended: "Uhm, I mean…_'yes'_, I can help."

McGee, Bishop, and Abby immediately hurled questions at him, with the latter adult passionately typing and clicking as he answered. Cory was surprisingly amicable, though Tony chalked the kid's newfound civility up to Abby's intimidation tactics. After a good half hour of Cory pointing out his position on the screen and reiterating details when prompted, the nerd herd finally had a detailed replica to work with.

"Good work, kid," Tony reached for Cory's shoulder, but the boy flinched and balled up his fists. The agent dropped his hand and backed away. "Sorry."

Cory's cheeks reddened. "No worries," he mumbled, cramming his fists into the pockets of his hoodie. "So, am I done now?"

"Not quite. We need a composite of the killer," Bishop answered.

"I told you I didn't see him. It was dark."

"You said you struggled," McGee reminded.

Cory narrowed his eyes. "And I also said he tried to choke me from behind or weren't you listening?" he snapped. Abby glared and he cleared his throat. "Sorry."

"So how'd you get away?" Bishop asked.

"I flipped him on his ass. I went go slack. Like this," he demonstrated. "He had to use his weight to hold me up and when he thought I was complying or whatever, I flipped him and ran."

"Did he say anything?" Abby asked.

"He was all 'good boy' and 'don't struggle', trying to sound all nice and fatherly. Totally creepy."

"What was his voice like?"

Cory shut his eyes, attempting to remember. "Smooth," he said after a beat. "Yeah, smooth and he talked fancy, like he pronounced every syllable of his words."

Tony perked up. "On a scale of Alan Rickman to Benedict Cumberpatch, how smooth?"

"It was more like Hugo Weaving in V for Vendetta."

"Good movie," Tony approved.

Cory shrugged. "The graphic novel was better."

"How tall are you?" McGee asked, clearly trying to break up the impending 'film vs. original media' debate.

"5'9," he lied, only to immediately blush under the weight of three pairs of disbelieving eyes. "Okay fine…5'7, but I'm still growing…"

Tony rolled his eyes. "_Anyway_, before you went limp, where did your head touch his body?"

"The top of his chest, I guess. I felt his voice by my ear, but I think he bent down."

McGee grinned as Abby clicked away on her mouse. "So, our killer's just over 6'0. I can narrow that down with an algorithm," he turned back to Cory. "How was he built?"

"He was muscular, I guess. Not super buff, though."

"When you flipped him, did you see his face?" McGee asked excitedly.

"Nope. Like I told Agent DiNoodle…"

"DiNozzo," Tony corrected, sounding bored.

"…I kicked him and ran."

"So, you didn't see his face?"

Cory threw his hands up in frustration. "One. More. Time, Agent McWhatever: no, I didn't, but he saw mine! Or does that even matter to you people?"

"Yeah, it does," Tony stepped in. "It also matters that Trina Villalobos was brutally raped and murdered. So were five other women. You're our only witness. You're those women's voice…"

"…Okay, but…"

Bishop decided to switch tactics. "Cory, I heard you paint."

"And?"

"_And_, sometimes when I need to process something for my work, when I want to remember a particular scene, I sketch it out first."

"Great," he droned, swiping nervously at his bangs. "I don't."

"But you do have a sketch pad," Tony revealed. "Maybe we should have a look…"

Cory whirled around. "No," he spat. "Stay outta my stuff!"

"Cory, five women are dead," Tony pressed on. "This guy's more than thorough. So far, he's in the wind. Even worse, he could be going after his sixth victim!"

Guilt darkened Cory's face. "I _know. _That lady…Trina…was she, I mean was she already dead when he…"

"Yeah, but…"

"Okay…" the boy nodded and swallowed. The guilt melted to be replaced with determination. "If I tell you everything now, I'll lose my leverage."

Tony's temper spiked. "Leverage? Those women…"

"I know, okay?" Cory yelled. He sighed and lowered his voice. "I know, but I'll tell you everything when you prove Mac stays at Sailsbury. Sorry, but people lie. They act all friendly and then stab you in the back."

Oh, Tony knew all about that.

Images of Tippy and Baz and that horrible night slammed against Tony's skull. Baz's laughter, the screams, Eddie Hazel's guitar—all a twisted melody burning Tony's sensitive nerves.

Tony tucked his emotions aside. "Cory, can you honestly say Mac would want you bargaining with innocent people's lives?"

"No," Cory conceded, looking down. "But…"

"…look, sometimes giving someone your trust means having faith they won't break it."

Cory looked up. The recalcitrant teen was gone, replaced by a wounded little boy. "Promise me you'll look after Mac," he begged, those eyes desperate and pleading. "He can't lose anything else 'cause of me."

"Cory, Mac didn't lose his farm because of you," Tony reasoned. "He lost it because of the what the For—"

"—they didn't do anything to me," Cory interrupted hotly. Inhaling a calming breath, he demanded: "Promise me Mac stays where he is."

"You have my word," Tony vowed, his face earnest and still.

Cory scrutinized Tony's face a beat before nodding. "Okay. It's not the best sketch, but…"

* * *

><p><strong>6:05 PM<strong>

**NCIS Bullpen**

**Washington, D.C**

"I don't need a shower," Cory complained, scooping up his backpack.

"Abby was right, kid. You're wearing the same clothes you had in the surveillance photo."

The youth glared at Tony through his bangs. "So?"

" '_So_', I figured you'd wanna change it up. Maybe do some laundry…"

Cory's eyes softened. "Oh, that'd be cool."

He sat his bag on Tony's desk and began rummaging through its contents. He carefully sat aside a wooden, paint-stained box to remove the wrinkled, faded jumble of clothing. Tony frowned when he realized how little the boy had.

Cory blushed at the look on Tony's face. "Clothes don't matter," he explained nonchalantly. "I spend my money on art supplies."

Tony grinned and picked up the box. "Good set," he ran his fingers over the top, where a "C" had been neatly carved. "Mac make this for you?"

He smiled genuinely. "Yup. For my seventh…" he trailed off. His smile faded, his expression hardening as he snatched the box away and shoved it in his bag. "Can I shower now?"

Tony noticed the sudden change, but kept his tone light. "Sure. Dorneget," he called loudly for the younger agent. "Will show you the showers. I'll make sure your clothes get to the laundry area."

Dorneget appeared, eyes and body language wary as ever. "The showers are over—"

"—Listen, man," Cory interrupted. He shifted on his feet and blew air from his mouth, clearly anxious. "I'm…well, about your phone…I was an asshole about that and…"

"Apology accepted," Ned smiled. He went to pat Cory's shoulder only to stop when he caught the subtle shake of Tony's head. "Let's head to the showers."

Tony immediately began sifting through Cory's clothes, separating the whites from the darks. Most of the boy's socks were mismatched. The whites were dingy and grey. The colors were faded, but judging from the edgy artist look Cory was going for, Tony doubted the kid minded.

"I never took you for the domestic type."

Tony's head jerked up to see Tippy step out behind a pillar, briefcase in hand and arrogant smirk in place.

"What are you doing here?" Tony asked, inwardly annoyed at the lack of anger in his voice. He was just too exhausted.

Tippy seemed to take the tired resignation in the other man's voice as an opening. "I came to apologize."

Tony kept the surprise off his face. "Is that the Jack talking?"

Tippy scoffed, approaching Tony's desk. "I'm a Baker's man, actually," he picked up a pair of Cory's jeans and began folding. "I shouldn't have showed up earlier. It was…"

"…Inappropriate? Bizarre? Stupid?" Tony bit out, snatching the jeans away.

"Well, yes," he had the grace to look sheepish. "Do apologize to Agent Gibbs for me, won't you?"

"Tippy, cut the shit," Tony sighed and rubbed at his temples, trying to massage away the migraine gearing up. "The answer's still no."

"You weren't the only one I told about Baz's fellowship."

Tony froze. "How many?"

Tippy shook his head solemnly. "He's ruined so many lives, DiNo. Too many," he said mournfully. "But some are willing to speak up, however…"

Tony slapped his hands to his sides. "Come on, Tippy…"

"DiNo…_Tony_…they just want some reassurance. With a Fed onboard…"

The agent's eyes darkened. "What did you tell them, Tippy?"

Tippy smirked at Tony's barely restrained anger. "Tell me, _Agent DiNozzo_," he started, his voice low and cunning. He picked up one of Cory's shirts and fingered the fabric. "How can you ask this boy…"

"Leave him out—"

"—to brave the wrath of your serial killer, to help you end his reign of terror, when _you_," he hurled the pronoun like an epithet. "a seasoned agent, refuse to stop a monster you know personally?"

Tony's demons began to thrash wildly. "Back off," he snarled.

"Why? Does the truth hurt? You're a hypocrite, DiNo!

"Listen…"

"No you listen," Tippy dropped the shirt and stepped into Tony's personal space. "Since you're obviously too selfish to cooperate willingly, I'll have to be more persuasive."

"Am I supposed to be intimidated?"

Tippy grinned, though it looked more like a sneer. "You can either help me or I'll just have to use my leverage."

"Leverage?"

"Something tells me you wouldn't want Agent Gibbs to find out…"

Tony's nose immediately picked up the mixture of coffee and sawdust

Oh God.

"…find out what?"

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading! Any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated!<p> 


	8. Explosions of Truth

Apologies for the long wait! I've had very little time to write. Since I have a break, I wanted to get an update out. Love to all my readers, reviewers, followers, and "favoriters". Thank you for putting up with my long absences.

**Trigger warning: **sexual abuse. For those of you who wish to avoid it, the bulk of it begins in an italicized passage.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 8: Explosions of Truth<strong>_

* * *

><p>"…find out what?"<p>

Tony's heart plummeted like a broken elevator. His head throbbed and his stomach churned dangerously. Running a shaking hand through his hair, he steeled himself before smearing on a smile and turning around.

"It's noth—"

"—don't you dare," Tippy interrupted angrily. "Don't you dare diminish what I went through!"

Tony whirled on him. "Because it's all about you, right?" he hissed.

"No, it's about you, me, and the other men Baz Bascomb ruined. It's about the hundreds of boys facing the same fate if we don't stand up and do something!"

The Bullpen's walls were suddenly charging toward Tony like wild mustangs. He felt his demons' formless hands tugging at his wrists, their sharp elbows pinning his shoulders. The piercing screams swelled in the air and the fiery laughter singed his ears. He tried to catch his breath, but he couldn't get a grip.

Tony watched numbly as Gibbs stepped protectively in front of him. "You're done here, Sherbrook."

Tippy folded his arms petulantly and leaned to the left, glaring around Gibbs at Tony. "You're gonna hide behind your boss, DiNo? Like you hid behind your daddy?"

Tony clamped his eyes shut, dodging Tippy's explosions of truth. He fled to the safest, deepest place in his mind and riveted himself there.

"Tell him DiNo! Tell him about the screams," Tippy jeered, his taunts oozing like pus from an old wound**. "**Tell him how they laughed! Tell him what you are, you yellow-bellied son of a bitch!"

"Enough," Gibbs shouted so loudly that his voice vibrated off the bullpen's walls. "Out!"

"I just thought you should know you've got a coward on your team, Agent Gibbs. I figure you'd have a problem with that."

Gibbs leaned forward just enough so their noses touched. He dropped his voice to a menacing whisper. "You don't know me. You definitely don't know him. I've forgotten more about Anthony DiNozzo than you'll ever know. So go. There's nothing for you here. And if you ever bother him again, I'll rip you a new asshole!"

"Baz beat you to the punch," Tippy fired back. His face grew dark and secretive, as if he'd said too much. He reached around Gibbs for his briefcase, his eyes never leaving Tony's expressionless face. "There are other ways to get to you, DiNo."

And with that, he exited, leaving a broken Tony in his wake.

"Tony…"

He was vaguely aware of Gibbs' hand on his shoulder. The concern—or was it pity?—in his boss' voice churned Tony's stomach. Feeling the vile bubble up his throat, he shoved Gibbs' hand away and ran for the bathroom.

* * *

><p><em>Tony couldn't touch himself after Baz—not even when he peed. Sometimes he'd wrap toilet paper around it, but mostly he sat down, like a girl, so as not to deal with it at all. <em>

_Baz didn't make another move and things went back to normal. They worked on Baz's Camaro together, went to movies, and planned and executed totally boss pranks. Sometimes, when Tony stared into Baz's bright blue eyes and brilliant white smile, Tony figured he'd made the whole thing up. _

_Maybe the heat had been too much for him and he just imagined it. _

_He wasn't sure what was real, but he knew his body. It didn't feel like his anymore. He felt numb and dirty, but that was probably because he was confused._

_That's what Baz said and Tony believed him. _

_Tony always believed him. _

_That night in the woods, when Baz invited Tippy along—Tony realized it hadn't been a dream at all. _

_It had been a nightmare._

* * *

><p><strong>6:42 PM<strong>

**NCIS Men's Restroom **

**Washington Naval Yard**

Tony was washing out his mouth when Gibbs entered. Neither said a word as Tony rinsed and repeated until he could stand to have his tongue in his own mouth. Gibbs just leaned against the hand dryer, eyes watchful and worried.

"I'm fine, Boss," Tony said after running a paper towel over his face. He turned to look the older man in the eye. "Really, I am."

Gibbs tilted his head and eyed Tony with a strange expression. His eyes were uncharacteristically sad and vulnerable. Pity, Tony thought bitterly. He felt his insides go cold with rage.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Tony snarled, turning back to the sink.

"That's fine," Gibbs said. He inched closer to Tony, his palms up and open. "Whenever you're ready."

Tony gripped the sides of the sink, squeezed and clenched his teeth. "I'm not Tippy," he bit out, glaring into the sink.

Gibbs snorted. "Thank God for small favors."

Tony laughed: a bitter, hollow hiss. "It's my fault he acts that way, ya know? I mean, he was born an asshole. The Sherbrooks have an innate capacity for douchery. But I made it worse."

"What happened to Tippy wasn't your fault, Tony."

There it was again: Gibbs' "kiddie glove" voice. Tony turned on the sink and plunged his hands under the faucet, hoping the cold water would douse the hot anger in his veins.

"You don't get it," Tony declared with feign calm. He rubbed his palms together under the water, concentrating on the liquid swelling between his fingers. "A man like you never will."

"I understand guilt."

The rage frothed in Tony's throat. Couldn't the old bastard take a hint? Before Tony could stop himself, he balled up a fist and slammed it against the sink.

"It's not about guilt," he shouted, ignoring his throbbing hand. " It's about responsibility!"

"The only person responsible for sexu—"

"—don't," Tony growled. Abruptly, he snatched Gibbs by the lapels of his jacket and pinned him with a violent and penetrating look. "Don't say that to me!"

Green eyes bore into blue, until the fire raging in Tony's eyes burned out. Slowly, the objects in the bathroom shimmered into his peripheral vision. He wasn't in Baz's dormitory or the woods surrounding Eggleston. He was in the bathroom, hemming his boss up like a B-movie villain.

He was so dead.

Suddenly, Tony's nausea returned. He pushed himself against the wall as the room began to spin. He slid downward, the blue tiles cascading down his spine like falling dominos. Tony tugged his hair with tight fists and drew his knees to his chin.

Gibbs wordlessly eased down beside him, angling his body to avoid encroaching on Tony's personal space. Gibbs simply allowed Tony to breathe, offering nothing but his quiet presence.

Finally, Tony spoke: "I'm sorry."

"Your grip's a little loose."

Tony chuckled, but quickly sobered. He kept his eyes straight ahead. "I really can handle this, Gibbs."

"I don't doubt it. And when you need a hand, I'll be here."

The earnestness in Gibbs' voice made Tony look at him.

Gibbs held eye contact. "I'll always be here. Regardless."

Not a fan of "mushystuff", Tony simply nodded and stood. His eyes still narrowed with shame, he held a shaky hand out to Gibbs. The older man accepted the gesture, allowing Tony to pull him up. Tony returned to the sink and rinsed his face, avoiding the mirror. He sucked in a breath before following Gibbs into the hallway's bright lights.

* * *

><p><strong>7:10 PM<strong>

**NCIS Bullpen **

**Washington Naval Yard **

McGee and Bishop were waiting for them, both huddled in front of McGee's computer.

"Boss," McGee called out excitedly. "We think we found a way to trace the dirtbag's burner phone!"

"How'd you manage that?" Tony asked, grateful for a break in the case and the distraction it provided. He followed Gibbs over to McGee's desk and leaned behind his chair. "I thought burner phones were untraceable."

"They are," Bishop agreed. "But a friend of McGee's at the Department of Justice agreed to run what we're sure is the killer's number through their dirtboxes' database."

Gibbs looked perplexed. "Dirtboxes?"

"Devices that mimic cell towers and gather data from our phones. My buddy couldn't elaborate on the DOJ's program, but basically, even though they're targeting criminal suspects, non-suspects data gets picked up. Their system usually lets the non-suspects' go, but we're hoping the dirtbox flagged our suspect's data and stored what towers his phone pinged off of. He'll call me back when he's got something."

"How'd you get his number in the first place?" asked Gibbs.

"The victim's friend said she took a call from her mystery guy at the nightclub," Bishop explained. "Luckily for us, she pulled out her phone not too far from a security camera. Abby and I were able to clean it up and pull up the number she dialed."

"Good work," Gibbs acknowledged, nodding his approval.

McGee's iPhone vibrated on his desk. "Hey, you find anything? Excellent," he immediately began typing. "Hey man, we'll take it. You just bought yourself a ticket to my private lobby. All right."

Tony twisted his face in feigned disgust. "Do I wanna know what you meant by 'private lobby' ?"

McGee rolled his eyes. "Gaming, Tony. I was talking—"

"Hey," Gibbs said, snapping his fingers in McGee's face. "Information. Go."

"Right," McGee cleared his throat. "The dirtbag's phone was flagged, but it's been inactive for a few weeks. It consistently pinged off a tower in New Carrollton. That means we're looking at a 10 mile wide search radius within they area. I'm texting you GPS coordinates and Abby's composite of the killer."

"Let's get moving," Gibbs ordered, already moving for the elevators. "DiNozzo and I'll work our way north of the perimeter. Bishop, McGee you start east and head west."

* * *

><p><strong>10:45 PM <strong>

**Elkhorn Motel **

**Greenbelt, MD**

"McGee said the asshole checked out this morning," Tony said, stuffing his phone back in his jacket pocket. "The manager said he seemed a little agitated."

"Probably about the boy."

"He's coming after him."

"Definitely," Gibbs nodded as he jerked the Charger into the shabby motel's parking lot. He frowned at Tony's worried expression. "The marshalls are setting up something. He'll be okay."

Tony stared out at the dark, snowy streets. "That's really all we can ask," Tony said, more bitterly than he'd intended.

He cringed inwardly. He really needed to get his shit together. He'd buried that Eggleston crap before and he could do it again.

Tony could feel Gibbs watching him. Not that the boss was looking at him. Gibbs had a way of inspecting people without his eyes. Thankfully, Gibbs didn't say anything. He just slipped the Charger into a parking spot in front of the room where McGee and Bishop were waiting.

"The manager recognized the composite, said the guy's name was Milton Asher," McGee said as soon as Tony and Gibbs stepped up on the concrete walkway. "Probably a fake. He paid in cash."

"Figures," Gibbs scoffed. He nodded at the mold colored door. "Let's open her up. Slowly. McGee. No surprises."

McGee gingerly unlocked the door and turned the knob and inspected the doorframe. Thankfully, there were no bombs or tripwires. Tony was in no mood for explosions. Too much had already blown up in his face.

Tony surveyed the seedy motel room with a sour scowl. It seemed like every cheap motel was a disgusting repeat of the ones before: 1970s orange shag carpet? Check. Imitation wood furniture? Yup. Same ugly ass floral bedspread peppered with flakey patches of God Only Knows What? Uh-huh.

Even more annoying, the killer had left absolutely nothing behind. Gibbs was already summoning Ducky and Palmer, hoping they could find some biological treasures. Tony took the liberty of checking everything a second time. It never hurt to be thorough, especially when being occupied with work kept his mind away from…things.

"I'll check the bathroom again," Tony announced, eager for some alone time.

He was so focused on the door that he didn't spot McGee's bag in his path. He landed on the side of the bed with a graceless thud, nose pressed into the filthy carpet.

"Laugh and you all die," Tony groaned. "Especially you, Tim."

An instinctive chuckle slipped out, though McGee stifled it when Tony lashed him with a Gibbs-like glare.

McGee walked over and held out his hand. "There, there, Tony. I'm sure you've done worse things on a motel floor than fall on it."

Tony scowled at McGee's palm. "A, I don't do motels," Tony huffed, clasping McGee's hand. "B…what the…"`

Tony's eye caught sight of a red, rapidly flashing light. The tiny device was attached to the bed's side rail. If it was what he thought…

"Bomb," Tony yelled as he leapt to his feet. "Everybody out!"

The four agents darted for the courtyard. They barely had time to distance themselves before the motel room was engulfed in flames. Tony managed to duck beside a car, hoping to avoid the thick smoke and shattered glass raining like hail. He was practically kissing the asphalt when he spotted Gibbs' boots near his nose.

"What the hell are we dealing with, Boss?" Tony asked as Gibbs hauled him up.

Gibbs just shook his head, eyes boring into the burning room.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading. Feedback is always appreciated.<p>

Also, most of the stuff about dirtboxes came from a Wall Street Journal article. Just giving credit where it's due.


	9. Marks

Sorry for the long wait. Since I can't send brownies, here's a long chapter as a peace offering.

**Trigger warning**_: _Non-graphic mentions of sexual abuse. The section is italicized.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 9: Marks<strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>12:14 AM<strong>

**Elkhorn Motel**

**Greenbelt, MD**

Tony watched dazedly as the throng of bomb squad agents and firefighters exited the charred room. The flames had swallowed everything and spat out a hollowed carcass. Whatever evidence there had been was now floating in the dank, smoky air burning Tony's throat like bourbon.

Tony kicked up some gravel.

Back to square-frickin'-one.

"DiNozzo!"

Tony jogged through the haze toward Gibbs' gruff voice. With the smog blurring his vision, Tony barely made out the figures of Gibbs and the bomb squad's supervisory agent. However, judging by Gibbs' clinched fists, Tony gathered whatever Rooney Ledbetter had was a doozy.

Just what they needed: another doozy from the douchebag.

"Like I told Gibbs," Ledbetter said around the gum he was chewing. "The pro y'all's killer hired's colder than a well-digger's ass."

Tony smirked. Rooney, the Alabama 'good 'ol boy' turned federal lawman hadn't quite shed his backwater ways. "That your professional opinion?"

"There's your—whudya call it"—ocular proof," he waved a freckled hand at the remnants of the room. "Hot enough to torch every damn thing, but controlled enough to confine the blast to a 'pecific space. My boys also found some neat little cuts on the gas pipes. Funny though, we didn't smell shit while we were poking 'round."

Tony and Gibbs exchanged fervent glances. "That's a Mossad technique," Tony finally whispered.

Ledbetter stopped chewing. "Mossad, huh?" he exhaled, his face twisted suddenly in thought. "Say Gibbs, didn't one of yours have an apartment torched by a Mossad bomb? Back in oh-nine?"

"Agent David," Tony supplied, barely managing a neutral tone.

"Uh-huh. My boys and I didn't catch that case, but it was right similar to this one. Welp," he sighed, plucking off his helmet to wipe the beads of sweat clinging to his red curls. "Guess I was right about the cold mothafucka' part."

"Somebody special?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, I got somebody in mind. I'll tell ya though, y'all won't be gettin' him in for a sit down. His organization's more watertight than a catfish's ass."

Tony snort-laughed. "Catfish's ass? Really?"

Ledbetter grinned. "Anyway, even if he were a talker, it wouldn't do y'all much good on account of him not botherin' with some no 'count pervert."

"But your guy, he was Mossad?

"Yup, 'fore he got into the private sector. His clientele's more…swanky."

Gibbs arched a brow. "Swanky?"

"You know, Columbian cartels that wanna destroy another guy's cocoa field. mobsters who wanna knock off an underboss…" he listed lazily. "You get the gist. Torchin' Rodger the Rapist's shitty motel room's, hate to say it, is beneath that shitbag. Though, evidently," Ledbetter looked back at the motel. "Y'all ain't dealin' with Regular Rodger."

Gibbs grunted and turned too. "Nope," he agreed then looked at Tony. "We're being played."

"The question is: by who?"

"I know a guy who could probably answer that," Ledbetter offered. "It'll be about ten hours though."

"Make it six," Gibbs grunted.

* * *

><p><strong>1:46 AM<strong>

**NCIS Headquarters **

**Washington Navy Yard**

"I'll check on the witness," Tony announced, following Gibbs out of the elevator.

"Fine," Gibbs agreed. "Bishop, help Abby with the detonator. I wanna know if the bomber's got another signature we can use to connect him to other cases. Our killer's probably used him before. McGee, get an ETA from Ledbetter."

"I really hope his snitch comes through," McGee sighed as he walked off. "At this point, we've got more questions than answers."

Thankfully, Gibbs didn't question Tony's need to babysit the kid. If the boss was surprised, he didn't show it. Tony, on the other hand, was unnerved by the instinct. He shook his head to banish it.

Cory was a distraction, Tony decided. Focusing on him was better than agonizing over almost being blown to smithereens or the "Ziva-reminding" Mossad connection.

Or worse: Tippy.

He'd barely opened the cot room's door when he heard a sharp crack. He looked down and found the source of the noise. Cory had taped a colored pencil across the door's bottom rail and frame.

Tony's stomach lurched at the memory.

* * *

><p>"<em>The nurse'll fix it. It's really not that bad, DiNo."<em>

"_Tell that to my busted nose," Tony groused around the towel he held against his face. _

_Tippy shrugged. "Most people don't lay in front of a door. And what were you doing anyway? You know, with those popsicle sticks?"_

_Tony winced. He could still feel Baz's sweaty hands. No, he wouldn't go there. He would just be prepared._

"_Making an alarm," Tony answered honestly. _

_Tippy's smirked. "Gee, DiNo, that's totally brill. Next time you should be really boss and make a car phone out of cans."_

_Tony wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. "There's one week until summer vacation."_

"_So…"_

" '_So', the uppers and seniors always pull off something big. I don't wanna get caught off guard."_

"_Wait, so Baz's doing something…"_

_Tony paled at the mention of the upper, but Tippy was so enamored by Baz's pranking skills that he didn't notice. _

"_Come on, DiNo," Tippy whined, nudging Tony conspiratorially. "You're like the Robin to Baz's Batman…"_

_Tony bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't know anything," he managed. _

"_But you guys spend so much time together…"_

"_Shut up!"_

_Tippy's eyes widened at Tony's sudden outburst. Sherbrook combed his friend's face for answers, but frowned at Tony's cold, blank face._

"_Fine," Tippy conceded with a shrug, though his face was skeptical. "But the next time you and Baz sneak out in the woods, I get to come…"_

* * *

><p>"…Earth to DiNoodle…"<p>

Tony blinked. The lackluster single bulb above him replaced the fluorescent lighting of Eggleston's dormitory. Cory was standing rigidly in the center of the room. His sketchpad and supplies were strewn over a cot, as if Cory had scrambled to attention. His ever-present glare hovered between hostile and curious.

The agent cleared his throat. Cory was sneaking poorly concealed glances at the broken pencil. Tony pointedly ignored it.

"You should be asleep," Tony said, closing the door.

Suddenly, Cory's spine jerked straight as a plank. His face was still, except his eyes. They were skittishly fast in their desperate search for an escape.

Tony bit his tongue, stifling a wince. Those eyes, unobstructed by messy black bangs and free of teenage hostility, troubled Tony more than Cory's anxiety. The furrowed brows and slightly narrowed lids were disturbingly familiar. A face bounced around the outskirts of Tony's memory, but he couldn't catch it.

Tony quickly cracked open the door, though he couldn't decide for whose sake. "Better?" he asked casually.

Cory nodded and unclenched his hands. As he raised one to swipe his bangs over his forehead, Tony noticed an "S" shaped scar starting at the bottom of Cory's hand. It was a curve of pink, puckered skin that slithered under his sleeve like a snake. A nasty burn, Tony concluded.

"From the fire? Must've hurt."

Cory blushed and immediately pulled his sleeve down further. "I don't remember. A shrink in Juvie said I 'suppressed it' or whatever," he answered apathetically as he sat down. He drew up his knees and placed his sketchpad between them before sniffing theatrically. "Anyways, you smell like you've been in a fire."

"An explosion, actually," Tony responded more cavalierly than he'd intended.

The kid jerked up. "Wait," he said, flattening his legs and clenching his fists. "So that asshole's like, blowing shit up now? What even is this?"

"I don't know," Tony answered honestly. "But we're gonna figure it out."

Cory scoffed. "You guys wouldn't even have a face if it wasn't for me."

Tony recognized Cory's 'tude for what it was. "You're safe here."

Cory shrugged and went back to sketching. An awkward silence passed between them before Cory spoke again. "Umm, have you heard from the marshalls?"

"Not yet," Tony admitted.

Disappointment fluttered across Cory's eyes before it quickly faded. "Oh, okay," he shrugged again.

"These things take time, Kid," Tony reassured. "Red tape and all. I'm sure you know all about that."

Cory's grip tightened around his pencil. "Yeah," he agreed dully.

Tony frowned at the boy's emotionless tone. "Listen…"

"It's fine. I mean it beats McNevin."

Tony grinned to lighten the mood. "Diggin' your new accommodations, eh?"

Cory rolled his eyes. "Nobody's "dug" anything since 1979. But," he paused, his lips twitching, threatening to smile. "The privacy's good."

"Glad it works. Well," Tony moved for the door. "Gotta go. Duty calls, you know."

"In your case, it sounds like someone whistling for their St. Bernard."

Tony laughed. "Get some sleep…"

"…wait!"

"Easy, I wasn't closing…"

"No. Well, _don't_, but…well, I wanna ask," he swallowed. "Why you convinced Daddy Chaddy to let me crash here?"

Tony shrugged. "Seemed logical."

"I _guess_, but like, cops usually don't stick up for me. It was weird," he smirked at Tony's frown. "'Good' weird. Not 'rapist who likes bombs' weird."

"Glad we could make that distinction. Here's another: I'm a federal agent, not a cop"

"Oh wow, a cop inna tie."

Tony shook his head. "Goodnight, Cornelius."

"Night, _Agent _DiNoodle."

* * *

><p><strong>6:11 AM<strong>

**NCIS Bullpen**

**Washington D.C.**

Tony awoke at his desk in time to see Ledbetter and his snitch exit the elevator. Dressed in designer jeans and a Steve Wozniak t-shirt, Tony thought the CI looked more like a Silicon Valley startup CEO and less like a federal informant. As it turned out, Stuart Harris was actually the CEO of a Silicon Valley startup. However, when he wasn't slaving over endless code and gentrifying neighborhoods, he was brokering deals between various elements of the underworld.

"He's like a concierge of Crime*****," Ledbetter later explained as he, Harris, and Tony followed Gibbs to an interrogation room.

Harris tut-tutted. "I'm not that banal, Rooney."

Tony grinned. "Sure about that? Startup casual clothes?" he said, sizing the man up with haughtiness befitting a DiNozzo. "Pretty cliché, there Stuie. Nice sneakers, though."

"Thanks," Harris responded, unruffled. "They're by Giuseppe Zanotti. I had them custom made."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Figures."

In the interrogation room, Gibbs gruffly beckoned Harris to a metal chair. He sat across from the CI while Tony and Ledbetter opted to stand. Harris reclined in his chair, pompous disinterest settling over his face.

"I'm sure Rooney shared the rules. Number one: the nature of my visit remains in this room."

Tony mockingly held up a hand. "Scouts honor."

"He's serious, Tony, and so am I," Ledbetter said soberly. "Officially, he's a tech consultant. I owe you one, Gibbs. That's the only reason he's here."

Only when Gibbs and Tony agreed did Harris speak: "Rooney tells me you're tracking a rapist who likes designer bombs," Stuart said lazily, eyes focused on the ceiling. "A sexual deviant with taste. Sounds like someone I'd like to know."

"You know the bomb maker," Gibbs supplied.

" 'Know' has strong connotations. We're just two symbiotic organisms existing in the same biome. Like Rooney and I."

Tony shook his head. "FYI: 'I scratch his back and he scratches mine' would've had the same affect."

Harris scoffed. "Some people have no respect for the beauty of the English language."

"Look Harris, you ain't the keynote speaker at the International Congress on English Grammar…" Ledbetter blushed as every eye in the room fell on him. "What? My mama was an English professor…" He cleared his throat and scowled menacingly at Harris. "Start talkin."

Harris smirked. "Elocution lessons wou—"

Gibbs smacked the desk, his face twisted in frustration. "Hey! Lives are at stake! The bomb maker, talk!"

Harris leaned forward, his expression serious. "You're focusing on the wrong detail. It's not about IDing the bomb maker, it's who he allowed to hire him."

* * *

><p><strong>7:15 AM<strong>

**Rooftop of NCIS Headquarters**

**Washington D.C.**

Cory sat on the icy gravel, sketching the skyline. He always woke at dawn, regardless of when he'd hit the sheets. The shrink at Juvie said it was a holdover from the Forsythes waking him early for chores. Whatever. He just liked the privacy and drawing in the cold.

He'd snuck out two hours ago and nobody had come looking. Not that he was complaining. He was good at going unnoticed for a reason.

He was also good at judging people's moods by the weight and sound of their footsteps. Another holdover from the Forsythes, apparently. Whatever the source of his skill, Cory just knew the light, tenacious steps vibrating behind him spelt trouble.

The door opened and spat out a man. Cory stood and immediately sized him up: early forties, old money, and snobby. Cory had pickpocketed plenty of preps like him in Chevy Chase. With his tweed jacket, Oxford shirt, and crisp khakis, the guy looked like a watered down Agent DiNoodle. However, in the three seconds Cory had been at NCIS, he knew tweed and paisley ties weren't dress-code approved.

"You're not a cop," Cory declared suspiciously.

"Guilty as charged," Not-A-Cop agreed in a voice that thankfully didn't sound like the killer from the park.

Still, his smile reminded Cory a little of Neil Forsythe.

Not Good.

At least Cory could blame his trembling hands on the cold.

He clenched his fists at his sides and clamped his teeth shut to keep them from chattering. Not-A-Cop didn't notice Cory's discomfort. Or, he didn't give a damn. Cory wasn't sure which was worse.

Not-A-Cop stepped closer and extended a gloved palm. "Tippy Sherbrook, New York Times."

* * *

><p><strong>*<strong>As I'm sure you noticed, Stuart Harris has some shades of "The Blacklist's" Raymond Reddington. Just me paying tribute to one of my favorite shows, and giving credit where it's due…nothing to see here, folks!

Thanks for reading! If possible, could you please leave me some feedback about the pacing of the plot? Like, how am I doing balancing the case and the Tony/Tippy storyline? As you know, this is my first casefic. I'd just like to take the story's temperature and see how it, and I, are doing. Thank you!


	10. Ghost Stories

Four months and four drafts later, finally: an update! I apologize for the wait. This one was the hardest to write! However, here's a long chapter to make up for the long wait!

**Trigger Warning: **Mentions of sexual abuse.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 10: Ghost Stories<em>

* * *

><p>7:20 AM<p>

Interrogation Room – NCIS Headquarters

Washington D.C.

Harris leaned forward, his expression serious. "You're focusing on the wrong detail. It's not about IDing the bomb maker, it's who he allowed to hire him."

Irritated, Gibbs pulled a folder from his jacket and slapped it on the table. "Look at them," he opened it and exposed the crime scene photos. "Raped and murdered. All blonde, all childless, all married to Marines. You and your bomb maker wanna pretend you're above the fray, that this," he poked the folder. ", Is above your principles? Prove it. Help."

Harris quietly sifted through the pictures with arrogant detachment. Suddenly, his hand stopped a beat before quickly moving along. To the untrained eye, the kernel of focus Harris gave to Trina Villalobos would've been meaningless. To Tony and Gibbs, it was a diamond in a shit storm.

"You know her," Gibbs accused. "How?"

Harris tut-tutted. "Still asking the wrong questions. Like I said, the bomb maker's client is what's important."

Tony freed his phone and thrust the killer's composite in Harris' face. "Ring any bells?"

Harris ignored the question. "In 1998, a New York subway car derails, killing everyone on board. In 2002, a plane crashes over Butte, Montana, mass casualties. 2003, Chicago, a string of murders targeting fans of a popular rock band occur. The cops find nothing. In Houston—"

"—the point?" Gibbs snapped.

"All connected. One guy."

"Bullshit," Ledbetter hissed.

Harris frowned. "You know me, Rooney," he retorted before turning back to Gibbs. "Patricia O'Grady, beloved niece of Irish Mob boss Lonnie O'Grady, was on that subway car. Luis Zavala, son of a Mexican drug lord was flying home to Mexico from his cushy Delaware boarding school. As for James Russell, a journalist who couldn't leave well enough alone: Chicago cops too focused on a larger pattern couldn't see that he was a needle in the haystack. That, gentlemen, is how your guy keeps evading you."

"So, Trina was the target?" Tony asked.

"No. Well, not in the traditional sense…" Harris answered coolly and shrugged.

Tony's frown deepened. "What does that—"

"—mean? Who knows? Nothing special about her, really," he said offhandedly. "I'm more interested in human nature…

"_I'm _more interested in a name," Gibbs interjected.

Harris ignored Gibbs "…ah, yes, human nature. Pesky booger. It makes us do amoral things: cheat on our spouses, kill for money, lie on our résumé...

"Goddamit Stuart," Ledbetter exploded. "Would you—"

"—it makes a man like Lewis Farnham murder his partner in cold blood."

* * *

><p>7:30 AM<p>

Rooftop of NCIS Headquarters

Washington D.C.

"Tippy Sherbrook, New York Times."

Cory scowled. He hated reporters. They made Mac's life hell during the Forsythes' trial. Always at his door, shoving mics and iPhones in his face, begging for the gory details about "Poor Little Cornelius" and the Forsythe's "House of Horror". Cory couldn't blame Mac for not wanting to adopt him after that shit show.

But he couldn't blame news-hounding asshats like this guy.

Cory sneered. He loosened his trembling fists slightly, pointedly ignoring Tippy's hand. "No comment," he grunted. "And how'd you get up here, anyway?"

Tippy laughed. "Oh, no. I'm not here for…" he trailed off and withdrew his rebuffed hand. "I'm an old friend of DiNo's," he paused to chuckle at Cory's confusion. "Sorry, Agent DiNozzo. He's helping me with a story."

Cory's fist unclenched at the mention of Agent DiNoodle. "Oh, yeah, what kinda story?" he asked, unconvinced.

Flashing a knowing grin, Tippy fished out his phone. "Perhaps some proof is in order," he flipped through it and turned the screen toward Cory. "DiNo and I, as kids."

Cory laughed, despite himself. "_Dude_, helmet hair _and _Arthur Ashe glasses, though? Do you have anymore of those, ya know, for science?"

"More like for instagram," Tippy scoffed, replacing his phone. "Anyway, an Agent Dorneget said I could wait up here. The air's nice and fresh. You don't mind, do you?"

Cory shrugged. "Whatever."

"So, you know my name—"

Cory snorted. "If you can call 'Tippy' a name."

Tippy didn't bat an eyelash. "It's a nickname, actually, for James IV. It's short for 'tip off the old block'. Such nicknames are commonplace in _certain_ circles."

The way_ James_ exaggerated "certain" reminded Cory of another pompous rich asshole—Neil.

"Cool story, bro," he sneered.

Tippy arched a brow. "And what's your story, Mr.…"

"Cory," he replied, smirking arrogantly. "And I don't have a story."

Tippy's eyes darkened. "We all have a defining story."

"Not me," Cory snapped.

Tippy cleared his throat and reapplied his smile. "I take it you don't like reporters."

"Something like that."

"Hmm," Tippy nodded. He looked—pensive—Cory decided. Tippy looked up, giving Cory a onceover. "You're what, twelve? Thirteen?"

Cory scowled. "Almost fourteen."

"Wow," Tippy regarded Cory nostalgically. "DiNo and I were about your age when we met."

"That's…nice?"

Tippy didn't respond. He turned away and stared out at the overcast skyline. Cory attempted to read his silence, squinting at its fine print.

When Tippy turned around, his million-dollar smile was back in place. "DiNo tells me you're helping him with a case."

Cory shrugged.

"It's horrible what happened to those women. You're a brave young man, Cory, for coming forward. I personally know witnesses who refuse to do so out of fear, others out of pure selfishness."

Cory crammed his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "Uh…thanks, I guess, but I don't wanna talk about it."

Tippy smirked. "Oh? What would you like to talk about?"

Cory grinned impishly. "Well…do you have any embarrassing stories about 'DiNo' to match that embarrassing pic?"

Tippy's smile blossomed into a full grin. "You have no idea."

* * *

><p>"His partner," Tony parroted incredulously. "In what?"<p>

Harris smirked, "In crime, obviously."

Gibbs was in no mood. "Is Farnham a hitman?" he snapped urgently.

Harris shrugged.

"Was Trina's husband the target?" Gibbs pushed.

"Who's to say?" Harris responded disinterestedly.

"C'mon man, is her name even Trina?" Tony asked.

Harris leaned back and stretched in the chair, grinning smugly. "Oh gentlemen, you don't expect me to do all the work, do you?" he stood and turned to Ledbetter. "Come on, Rooney. We're done."

Gibbs blocked his path. "Sit down," he commanded coolly.

"As I sa—"

"Sit. Down."

Harris looked past Gibbs at Ledbetter, who was visibly nervous. "Am I going to do that, Rooney? Because that makes me uncomfortable—and discomfort definitely wasn't a part of our deal."

Tony couldn't stifle his anger. "Screw your deal! Those women—"

"—were just smoke screens, Agent DiNozzo. Farnham either disposed of Trina amongst a rapist's conquests or did all five decoys himself. Either way, it's your problem," he moved for the door. "Good day gentlemen."

Ledbetter inserted himself between Harris and the agents. His expression wavered between apologetic and helpless. "Look Gibbs, I'm sorry, but I can't risk alienating that son of a bitch. He's helped with a lot of shit well above both our pay grades."

Gibbs eyes flashed. "So we just grab our ankles for him?"

Ledbetter sighed. "While we foot the bill for the Vaseline. I'm real sorry we couldn't help y'all more," and with that, he was gone.

"Tim was right," Tony groaned after Ledbetter closed the door. "More questions, less answers."

Gibbs ignored Tony's bout of pessimism. "Have Abby comb through every shred of evidence again. If we're dealing with two dirt bags, I'm hoping our real rapist left something behind."

"She and Ducky went out for breakfast."

"Well, call 'em back DiNozzo!"

Tony gulped. "Right. I'll, uh, sick McGee on Trina and Farnham. Bishop already called in some NSA favors to check into Emilio Villalobos early on. Nothing special about him, his family, or his work assignment."

"Then have her look into his unit, their neighbors, anyone close to them; and get Kendra Wilkes back here. She said they were high school friends. She might know more than she thinks."

"On it, Boss."

* * *

><p>8:20 AM<p>

NCIS Bullpen

Washington D.C.

"Lewis Farnham's a ghost," McGee announced defeatedly from his desk.

"Well, that's comforting, Tim," Tony quipped, wheeling his chair over to McGee. "Could you, uh, maybe elaborate?"

"According to his file, he's dead. He was United Kingdom Special Forces, first in the 14 Intelligence Company and briefly in the Special Reconnaissance Regiment. He was plucked from UKSF in late '05 and his file was a desert until '06 when he was reported KIA."

"A spook," Tony declared, perusing the screen. "Guess he's freelancing* now."

"Black ops, I bet," Tim agreed. "Ya know, I gotta say, that kid can draw. The resemblance is on point."

Tony tilted his head. "He kinda looks like Jason Statham."

"Really? He reminds me off Niko Bellic."

"Who?"

"The protagonist of Grand Thef—"

Gibbs slapped his fist on his desk. "Hey! Wanna try focusing on the damn case?"

Tony swallowed. "Sorry Boss. Um, yeah, I'm guessing whoever Farnham worked for wanted to knock him off 'cause he knew where too many bodies were buried."

"Then why's he still breathing, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped from his desk. He turned to Bishop. "What's his connection to Trina Villalobos?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted, blushing slightly under Gibbs' annoyed glare. "I'm running her DMV photo through international and domestic databases. It should take a couple of hours."

"Make it one."

"I'll try, but—"

"We're flying blind, dammit," Gibbs hissed, staring her down. "This Farnham bastard's already raped and killed at least one woman and tried to blow us up. I wanna end it. Or is that not enough motivation for you?"

The "pinging" of the elevator severed Gibbs' ass chewing. "Saved by the bell," Tony quipped, watching as Abby and Ducky exited and headed toward Team Gibbs.

Abby was already frowning at the tension. "Uh…what'd we miss?"

"Oh, nothing much," Tony droned. "Oh yeah, except for the fact that our serial killer slash rapist might actually be a British spook turned hitman who killed his partner and stashed her in a real killer slash rapist's M.O. to throw us off his trail."

"Why must they always be British?" Ducky groaned.

Abby's brow furrowed. "Okay, wait, so…the guy Cory saw might be a copy cat?"

"Looks that way, Abs," Gibbs agreed. He turned to Ducky. "We need to comb through the other victims' autopsy records, see if we missed any difference between them and Trina Villalobos."

"You know," Ducky said. "This reminds me of Müllerian mimicry."

Tony frowned. "What?"

"It's a natural phenomenon in which two poisonous species, that may or may not be closely related and share one or more common predators, have come to mimic each other's warning signals. For example, the Mimic Octopus is able to intentionally modify its body shape and color in order to resemble the more dangerous sea lionfish."

"Your point, Duck?" Gibbs growled.

"Our killer is a wolf in sheep's clothing."

Abby shuttered. "It's a hinky day when a serial rapist is the sheep."

Ducky nodded. "Yes, well—"

"Autopsy, Duck. Now."

"What's in the bag, Abs?" Tony asked after Gibbs and Ducky started for the elevator.

"Oh," she raised the white bag up to her eyes, as if seeing it for the first time. "Uh, two sweet crepes with chocolate, strawberries, and whip cream. I think there's a Swiss cheese omelet, too."

"Nice," Tony exclaimed, only to scowl when she swatted him away. "Hey!"

"Ah, ah, ah," she grinned, tucking the bag behind her. "It's for the kid. Ducky and I figured he was tired of vending machine cuisine. Where is he, anyway?"

"Ned's still babysitting," Tony said, scanning the bullpen for Dorneget. He frowned when he spotted the younger agent posted by the entrance to the stairs. "Dorneget!"

Tony watched the probie's spine jerk straight before he rushed over in a bumbling jog. "Yes sir?" he asked apprehensively.

"Where's Cory?"

Dorneget's posture relaxed. "Oh, he's fine. He's on the roof wi—"

Tony's eyes flashed. "Are you actually telling me you left a Federal witness alone, on the roof?"

Ned's eyes widened. "No! I mean, no sir," he corrected at Tony's pointed glare. "He's not alone. He's actually with your friend…"

Tony's heart stopped. No. No, even Tippy wouldn't.

"…Tippy Sherbrook…"

He would.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

Before he could stop himself, Tony made a mad dash for the stairs.

He rounded each flight with precision, grateful for the hours he spent in the gym. His lungs burning and rage pulsating, he kicked open the door with a sudden spurt of fury.

"What the hell is this?"

* * *

><p>8:50 AM<p>

Rooftop of NCIS Headquarters

Washington D.C.

"…Baz's family was legendary, Cory. Sure, there were buildings sporting the Bascomb name, but nobody cared. See, the Bascombs were generational pranksters and word had it that Baz was in possession of the family's coveted prank journal."

"And?"

" '_And', _time-honored tradition decreed, before the end of the spring session, a Bascomb and his entourage would dust off the worn heirloom and pull off killer pranks that made Skip Burroughs from Class look like an amateur."

"I'm sorry, who?"

Tippy smiled indulgently. "Before your time. Anyway, the thing was, Baz was—"

"—what the hell is this?"

Cory couldn't decide what freaked him out more: Agent DiNoodle kicking open the door like Chuck Norris on meth or the 'roid rage look in the guy's eye. Either way, Cory felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his fists tremble.

Tippy, however, was unbothered. Which was stupid, considering Agent DiNoodle looked ready to throw him off the roof. Just what Cory needed: to be a witness to another murder.

Cory laughed, but it was high-pitched and anxious. "Uh…hey, Agent DiNoodle…"

"I think you're scaring the boy, DiNo," Tippy informed coolly.

DiNoodle whirled toward Cory. He seemed to forcibly calm himself by stuffing whatever he was feeling back wherever it came from. Cory _really _didn't like where this was going. DiNoodle's cold, calculating grasp on his emotions was totally a Neil thing. Unfortunately, Neil loved to end his emotional thunderstorms with a riding crop across Cory's back.

Not good.

"Go back downstairs, Cory," Tony ordered flatly. "Abby's got food for you."

Unfortunately, teenage stupidity got the best of Cory. "What's your deal? We're just talking."

Agent DiNoodle stepped closer to Cory who instinctively backed away. DiNoodle sighed. He looked sad, like a used tissue crumpled and tossed in the trash.

"I'm not the one you should be afraid of," his voice was thick with an emotion Cory couldn't name.

Suddenly, Tippy's voice interjected like a bitter wind. "Shouldn't he be?" he half-shouted.

Cory flinched, despite himself.

Agent DiNoodle ignored his not!friend. "Go ins—"

"—what's the harm in a little ghost story?" Tippy interrupted. "You don't mind, right Cory?"

The wild desperation in Tippy's eyes knotted Cory's stomach. He felt a jolt of cold shock him through his inadequate hoodie. He shivered and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Cory _felt DiNoodle _snatch his forearm. "Go inside," DiNoodle ordered, his tone dark and oddly pleading. "Now!"

"Just tell him, DiNo," Tippy yelled as DiNoodle practically dragged Cory toward the door. "Tell him how you watched Baz rape me and didn't do anything to stop him."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading<strong>. Next up: Tippy and Tony's showdown!

Please review! I'm really excited to read your thoughts on this chapter and the next, which are crucial to the Tony/Tippy storyline.

***Credits: **More of Stuart Harris mimicking Red Reddington during The Blacklist's 1x2. Also, Ducky's spiel about Müllerian mimicry came from The Encyclopedia of Earth.

**Also: **"The Witness" now has a Tumblr. Anonymous reviews will be answered there. Check my profile for more deets!


	11. Witnesses

I'm so sorry for the long wait! This was so hard to write that it took the entire summer! Here's a long Tony filled chapter since I can't send you guys cookies and hugs.

**Trigger Warning:** Mentions of child sexual abuse.

*_italics denote flashbacks._

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 11: Witnesses<em>

* * *

><p>"Just tell him," Tippy yelled as Tony dragged Cory toward the door. "Tell him how you watched Baz rape me and didn't do anything to stop him."<p>

Tony froze in mid-step. Tippy's words sucked the air out of the space between them and left an accusing void. Tony's throat closed like a fist, and he stumbled backward. He tried to catch his breath, but it swirled into the unforgiving chasm of his memories.

Vile images invaded Tony's mind, but he ruthlessly shoved them down. His body immediately began pumping adrenaline as his training kicked in. He had a mission: evacuate the witness.

Tippy sensed Tony's reinforced resolve and changed tactics. "That's right, Cory. You and 'Agent DiNoodle' have something in common. He was a witness too."

Cory stopped abruptly.

"Ignore him," Tony ordered, though he wasn't sure if he was commanding Cory or himself. He pulled at Cory's forearm, but the boy planted his feet stubbornly. "Let's g—"

"—he wants to stay," Tippy smugly observed.

Tony whirled around, pulling Cory with him. "Back off," he growled. "He's just a kid!"

"So was I," Tippy yelled and Cory flinched in Tony's hold.

Tony glanced at Cory. He was still as a rock, his blank face pointed down at his filthy Vans. Tony gave Cory's forearm a reassuring squeeze—for whose sake, Tony wasn't sure—hoping to establish eye contact.

Cory didn't look up. "You're seriously gonna let him lie on you?" he asked incredulously.

"Am I lying DiNo?" Tippy goaded.

Cory flung a scowl at Tippy. "I didn't ask you," he growled.

Tony squeezed his arm again. "This isn't your fight. Go in—"

"Isn't it?" Tippy smugly asserted. "You're asking him to do everything you couldn't and still refuse to do. How can you ask Cory to brave the wrath of a deranged killer when you won't even help me stop Baz?"

Cory bit his lips as he played with the string of his hoodie. "Is that true?" he asked quietly, eyes downcast.

"You don't believe me," Tippy accused Cory resentfully.

Cory shrugged jerkily. "I dunno you."

Tippy scoffed, sneering at Tony. "But you know DiNo?"

"Nope, but I know you're an idiot! Newsflash, asshole: he's a cop. They like, they background check the shit outta these guys. His boss wouldn'tna—"

Tony grimaced at the boy's naiveté. Background checks couldn't pick up unreported crimes. They couldn't pick up closeted cowardice and shame.

But Gibbs, though. How did the boss, with his omniscient gut and probing stare, miss Tony's shortcomings? How did Gibbs manage to let a spineless bastard like Tony slip through the cracks?

Tony shook his head and moved for the door again. "Let's go, Cory."

Tippy's face contorted as he stepped in front of Tony and Cory. He glared at Cory. "Listen—?"

"—Tippy, move—"

Tippy chuckled scornfully. "—I hate to burst your bubble, but everything you learned in Kindergarten on Safety Day was bullshit. The good guys are capable of bad things."

Cory's breath hitched. Tony noticed Cory's hands were trembling. Tony was sure Cory was thinking of Neil Forsythe, with his outward charm and inward cruelty.

"—back off," Tony snarled as he angled his body between Tippy and the boy. "Tippy, so help me, if you—"

"—see, Cory, he can't deny it…"

Tony had to get the boy away, for the case, he told himself. Losing the boy's trust would lose NCIS a valuable witness. Those women needed Cory. Besides, Tony couldn't disappoint Gibbs.

No, it wasn't that Tony couldn't deal with Cory equating Tony with a diabolical bastard like Forsythe. It wasn't that Tony didn't want another boy lashing him with the betrayed, horrified look originated by thirteen-year-old Tippy.

Tony clasped Cory's shoulder. "It's cold. Go inside," he said with feigned calm. He attempted to guide the boy around Tippy, but Cory wouldn't budge. "Hey—"

"—is it true?" Cory asked quietly.

Was it? Tony certainly knew what Baz was when he invited Tippy along, Tony didn't warn his friend. Instead, Tony scooted over in the backseat of Baz's Camaro to make room for the eager Sherbrook.

He should have said something! He could've created a diversion or insisted Tippy stay behind. He should have told Tippy exactly what Baz was and they both should've run like hell.

But he didn't.

Tony winced. The complicated truth tasted rancid on his tongue. "It's—"

"Oh, please don't say it's complicated," Tippy jeered with an eye roll. "It's simple! You knew what would happen in those woods and when it did, you stood by and—"

"Shut up," Tony thundered. "Shut up! SHUT UP!"

Cory flinched at Tony's outburst, his head jolting up. His face remained stony, but those familiar eyes—narrowed in judgment—made Tony's conscience sore. Tony looked away.

Instead, he glared at Tippy. The bastard seemed to bathe in the sweet satisfaction of Tony's shame and Cory's shattered trust. Tony rubbed his forehead where a migraine brewed. He felt the cold, indignant rage surging through his pain-clouded mind. His demons were restless, begging Tony to use his fists. Tony struggled for control, but somehow suppressed his emotions and looked at the boy.

There was a fire in Cory's eyes. Tony spotted the speckles of fear, anger, the smoldering ruins of trust. However, it was the glow of confirmation—the look that said Tony was just like Neil, like Baz, like Lewis Farnham—that curdled Tony's insides. He reached for Cory's arm again, but the boy jerked away.

"You really _are _a hypocrite," Cory declared bitterly, turning on Tony. His eyes were bright and indignant. He looked oddly like Tippy. "All that crap about how I was 'Trina's voice', how I should _trust _you, when you're—"

"—he's not like us, Cory," Tippy cut in. "I know you've been hurt before. He doesn't know what it's like."

* * *

><p><em>Baz leans over Tony's face, tracing Tony's eyebrow and then his cheekbone and then his jaw…calloused fingers, like steel wool, grabbing...<em>

* * *

><p>"I bet he weaseled his way in, trying to relate to you, make you like him. It worked! I can tell. You trusted him and he betrayed you, just like me."<p>

* * *

><p>"<em>I gotta admit, DiNo, putting habanero pepper on Uptight Uppinghouse's beloved coffee cup <em>was _pretty boss," Baz praises, handing Tony a slice of pizza._

_Tony takes it with a satisfied grin. "Yeah?"_

"_Totally," Baz cuffs his shoulder. His hand migrates up to Tony's face, a finger brushes across his lip. Tony jumps back and Baz blushes, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry."_

_Tony rubs his arms, scrubbing away his goosebumps. He smiles. "No worries."_

* * *

><p>"He's adopted this gallant, James Bond-esque persona, but he's the worst kind of monster. He's a coward with a badge—"<p>

Before Tony's rational mind could intervene, his hand sprang and snatched Tippy's collar, fist poised to strike, but he immediately loosened it. The vulnerability twisting Tippy's face burned Tony's eyes. Had Tippy been standing there stark naked, he would have been less exposed.

Tippy was no longer an obnoxious bastard who'd been the bane of Tony's existence. He wasn't a nosy reporter or a presumptuous prat. All Tony saw was a broken boy curled in a fetal position in the grass, his khakis torn and his soul shattered.

The guilt hit, hard and cold. No matter how much he resented Tippy, facts were facts. Tony helped to create Tippy—the damaged child and the indignant man—and he owed them the listening ear they so desperately wanted.

"Fine! I get it," Tony relented. "You can rant and rave at me all you want, but—"

Tippy's laugh was brittle and icy. "I don't want to 'rant and rave'! I want you to pay! What you and Baz—"

"—Baz and I?" Tony parroted, looking affronted. "I'm not like him!"

"No, you're worse! You were my _best _friend!"

"I know!"

"You _don't_! I still…I still hear that guitar…when I…when someone…"

* * *

><p><em>Somewhere, in the distance, Tony hears a guitar. Mournful and forlorn rifts waft through the air: notes that remind thirteen-year-old Tony that his mother's dead, that his father's avoiding him like an ex-wife demanding alimony. It's the kind of tune with jagged notes capable of peeling Tony's pain like an onion.<em>

* * *

><p>Tony blinked to banish his own memories. "I understand."<p>

"Do you? Do you still hear my screams? Do you know what it's like to be held down? To be…"

* * *

><p><em>The first thing Tony notices, as his eyes snap open, is the darkness; a cold, inky kind of darkness that sticks to his bones. Its black tendrils tickle his stomach like a soda with too much fizz. He realizes he's on his back, staring up at the night sky and the trees twisting in the wind.<em>

_He feels the panic attack swell in his stomach. His breath is thick and tastes sour. His head spins like a roulette wheel to match his rumbling eardrums. He tries to suck in some air, but something catches in his throat. Something's stuffed in his mouth!_

"_Shit, man, I think he's waking up!"_

"_What the hell, Avery? You said you gave him enough to—"_

"—_I know, okay? Just get his tie out his mouth before he chokes!"_

_Tony reaches for his mouth but his arms feel like lead weights. The blurry shapes gradually started to take form. Avery Karp and Piedmont Bergström III, Baz's side kicks, stand over him like vultures over a carcass._

_Tony struggles as Piedy crouches on one knee and pulls Tony's tie from his mouth. He hungrily gulps in clumps of air before Piedy's hand clamps over his lips. What the hell was this?_

"_Promise not to scream?" Piedy asks in his gravelly, knockoff Clint Eastwood voice. _

_Tony's green eyes flash in panic and fury. Piedy's hands taste like stir-fried shit. He tells him so, among other things, against his palm. _

_Piedy rolls his eyes. "Right back atcha' DiNo," Piedy rasps. "Well, do you?"_

_Tony nods once and Piedy removes his hand. Tony licks his dry lips and tries sitting up, but he feels the telltale splitting pain behind his skull. It feels like bunches of Oompa Loompas are using his brain for soccer practice. Great. Just what he needs: another migraine._

_He tries again, but his head feels bloated and heavy on his neck. He groans._

"_Easy there, DiNo," Avery cautions. "You—"_

"—_what the hell's going on?" Tony tries to yell, but it comes out a girly whisper. He works his mouth, but it's like he's speaking through cotton. "Why'd you gag me?"_

_Piedy and Avery exchange looks. Avery opens his mouth to speak. _

_Whatever explanation Avery has is lost forever as they all hear a scream. _

"_What was that?" Tony asks._

"_An animal," Piedy supplies hastily._

"_That didn't sound like—" Tony closes his mouth with a pop. As he surveys the area, a faint feeling creeps over him like insects crawling. His stomach churns. "Where's Tippy?"_

"_He and Baz went to get help," Avery answers._

"_Help? For what?"_

"_For you. You got sick on the way home."_

"_That makes no sense—"_

_Another scream. It isn't a Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween scream. It isn't even a Susan Backlinie in Jaw's scream or a famous Wilhelm one. _

_No, it's the kind of scream that brands a kid's soul and freezes his bone marrow. There's no coming back from that awful sound. Tony knows he will never be the same. _

_And if Tony knows Baz: neither will Tippy._

_Ignoring his throbbing head, he makes another attempt at sitting up. Unfortunately, Piedy snaps into action and holds him down. "What—"_

_The older boy's face twists into a sneer. "Can't have you interrupting now can we?"_

_Tony grips Piedy's wrist. "Let me go—"_

* * *

><p>"Lemme go!"<p>

Tony snapped into reality just in time to feel Cory clawing at Tony's hands, attempting to extract himself from Tony's grip. He'd been squeezing the boy's arm like a stress ball. He immediately let go. Cory's expression wavered between startled and disgruntled as he rubbed the feeling back into his arm.

"Flashback?" Tippy asked mockingly before Tony could apologize.

Tony struggled to ignore the bait. "You got what you wanted. Now go."

"You think one flashback makes up for what you did! You let him—"

"No I didn't! Piedy and Avery—"

"—this is about you!"

With sudden ferocity, Tony shouted, "What the fuck do you want from me?"

"An apology would be nice," Tippy shouted back. "But I'd settle for an admission!"

"Of what?" Tony asked, exasperated and exhausted. "What do you wanna hear?"

Tippy's eyes sparkled cruelly. "That you're no different than him."

Tony's voice was younger, higher, less controlled. "No!"

"It's true! You're law enforcement, _Agent_ _DiNozzo_! You know the guy who plans the crime is just as guilty as the who executes it!"

"I didn't plan—"

"You're just like him!"

* * *

><p><em>Baz reaches out, but Tony slaps his hand away. "Stop, man."<em>

"_Oh, c'mon, DiNo. You were into it before."_

_Tony shakes his head so hard his neck cracks. _

"_You're just confused."_

"_I'm not—"_

"—_you're just like me…"_

* * *

><p>"You're just like him! Admit it!"<p>

That did it.

Tony's demons shirked his grasp and seized his hands. Red rage propelled Tony toward Tippy like a bullet. One minute Tippy was standing a few feet away from the roof's ledge and the next his head was hanging over it, Tony's hand gripping Tippy's throat.

* * *

><p>Cory didn't even see DiNoodle strike. He'd been tending to his sore arm when he saw the flash of movement. When he looked up, DiNoodle was dangling the asshole reporter over the roof like a broken puppet.<p>

If he didn't act fast he'd be a witness to yet another crime.

He bolted for the door and down the stairs, spilling into the bullpen. He rushed toward Dorneget, Abby, and Agent McWhatever, who were standing at the latter's desk.

Agent McWhatever saw him first. "Cory, what's—"

"—help! He's gonna kill him!"

"—what?"

"DiNoodle! He's hanging Tippy over the ledge!"

"Get Gibbs," Agent McWhatever ordered Abby and broke for the roof.

Abby took off just as quickly, leaving Cory and Dorneget in anxious silence.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading<strong>!

Next up: Gibbs tries to pull Tony out of the darkness. Tony fills in the blanks with Gibbs.

Please review! How'd you like the beginning of the confrontation? The next chapter will also be heavy on Tony's reactions so I'd love to hear what you think of them.


	12. Fire and Demons

So, after many months: here's a (very, very long) update. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting! I know I've said this before, but this chapter was definitely the hardest to write. I hope you enjoy it!

**Trigger Warning:** Mentions of child sexual abuse.

*_italics denote flashbacks._

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 12: Fire and Demons<em>

* * *

><p><em>When I was a child, I heard voices,<em>

_some would sing and some would scream._

_You soon find you have few choices,_

_I learned the voices died with me._

Tony's demons shirked his grasp and seized his hands. Red rage propelled Tony toward Tippy like a bullet. One minute Tippy was standing a few feet from the roof's ledge and the next his head was hanging over it, Tony's hand gripping the reporter's throat.

"DiNo—"

"—shut up," Tony softly commanded. Although his tone was desperate, rage crackled off his body in sizzling currents, shocking Tippy into silence. "It's my turn to talk. You—"

The creak of the door opening cut Tony off. Without releasing Tippy, he angled his head toward the sound. McGee stood in the door's threshold, looking panicked and shocked.

Tony grimaced and turned away. "Leave, Tim," Tony shouted, shamefully noticing how his desperation made his voice sound high pitched and shrill— like a nervous boy's.

McGee gingerly stepped through the door anyway, as if approaching a frightened child. His. Only when he was a short distance from Tony did he stop. "I can't do that."

Tony looked back at McGee. His eyes were anguished and confused. Tony hissed as he jerked his focus back to Tippy. The reporter's hands were white-knuckled in their frenzied effort to break free. Tippy's lips moved, but Tony couldn't over the cackling howl of his demons. They were getting louder as their savagely violent taunts sang across Tony's neurons.

"Kill him," Tony's demons urged as they grabbed his hands. He felt his grip tighten around Tippy's neck. "Then it'll be over!"

The adult, rational side of his mind struggled for control. A headache erupted into a raging volcano of pain as he resisted. Absently, he felt hands prying at his shoulders.

"Let me go," Tony screeched.

* * *

><p>"<em>Let me go," Tony's screeches, gripping Piedy's wrist.<em>

"_Don't worry DiNo," Piedy grins, taking his free hand to pat Tony's cheek. "I think Baz's almost done."_

_Tony keeps fighting. So what if Piedy's the captain of the varsity wrestling team. He needs to escape. He has to save Tippy from—_

"_Let me up," he begs. He feels his eyes welling up. He can't believe he's resorting to whining. He cringes, he sounds like a five-year-old girl. "Please—"_

_Another hail of screams cuts Tony off. He can feel his chest heaving as the tears pour out of his eyes in a steady stream, but he doesn't care. This is his fault. He has to do something! _

"_I wish Baz would shut him up," Piedy complains. He looks up and stares toward what Tony assumes is the location of Baz's car. "He's gonna get us caught."_

_Avery shuffles nervously on his feet. "Maybe we should just leave."_

"_So—what?—he," Piedy scowled down at Tony. "Can run straight to Headmaster Braun?_

_Avery shrugged. "We could tie him up, I guess."_

_Piedy seemed to mull it over, his cold eyes boring into Tony's. After a beat, he nods. "There's some rope in my bag, but I left it near Baz's car."_

_Avery casts a jittery look at Tony. "Will you be okay?"_

_Piedy scoffs. "What's the worst he could do?"_

* * *

><p>"Tony, you're gonna kill him! Come on, man! Gibbs, help me!"<p>

Tony was jerked back to the present as he spied a familiar figure approaching. Hands still tugged frantically at his shoulders. He looked down. His hand was around Tippy's throat. Studying his hand and then Tippy's red, terrified face, he tilted his head in confusion. What was happening?

"DiNozzo!"

The booming voice made Tony's spine jerk straight. He daringly raised his eyes toward the origin of the sound. In his peripheral vision he spied Gibbs staring at him. Thankfully, he couldn't make out the boss' expression.

"Let him go," Gibbs commanded calmly.

Tony's fingers instinctively loosened. Unfortunately, right on cue, his demons scrambled up to the forefront. Images of Tippy's indignant scowl, of Piedy's snarl, of Cory's bright, accusing eyes, flashed across his brain like lightning.

He squeezed Tippy's neck harder and shook his head. "No, Boss," he refused. His voice was still young and shaky. "I…I can't."

Tony looked down at his hand again. He expected to find his strong, adult fist gripping Tippy's throat. Instead, it was much smaller and softer, like a boy's.

"I can't let you kill him, DiNozzo."

"Why do you care?"

"About him?" Gibbs scoffed. "I don't. You—"

"—yeah? Well, you shouldn't."

"That's never stopped me before."

Tony jerked back around, bumping into Gibbs' determined stare. Gibbs didn't look away as he eased closer, palms open and raised. Pity was in his eyes. Tony's jaw clenched.

"Just leave," Tony sighed and turned away. "Go," he commanded again, warningly, when he didn't hear footsteps.

"McGee, go check on Abby and the kid. I—"

"I SAID LEAVE! BOTH OF YOU," Tony shouted, whirling around frantically.

Tim's eyes widened at the wild, deranged snarl mangling Tony's face. Silently, he released Tony's shoulders and backed out of the door. Tony returned his eyes to Gibbs, but the old bastard wouldn't budge. The younger agent released a frustrated growl.

"Let me do this," Tony pleaded. His voice is thirteen years old and unrestrained. "He won't understand! I have to make him understand!"

"Okay," Gibbs agreed easily. "We'll do that. Together."

"No…"

Gibbs stepped forward and covered the hand Tony had on Tippy's neck with his own. "Tony, please…"

The man's quiet plea was held more authority than his barking orders. Tony had never heard that tone from Gibbs. He could think of no other response than obedience. He released Tippy's neck and hauled the man to his feet.

Tippy immediately doubled over into a coughing spasm, gripping the roof's ledge with a shaky hand to steady himself. His lungs nearly full, he straightened to a stoop, his grey eyes red from oxygen deprivation and rage.

"What the fuck was—"

"—quiet," Gibbs shouted and Tippy's lips automatically shut. "You've had you're turn. Now he goes."

Tippy glowered. "I won't lis—"

"The hell you won't," Gibbs growled, snatching Tippy upward and snatching the lapels of his jacket. "You've hounded my best agent and interfered with my investigation. The shit stops today! You get his side of the story and you get the hell outta here."

* * *

><p>"You actually let a civilian near a federal witness," Abby ranted, jabbing her finger into Ned's chest. "What the hell were you thinking?"<p>

"I wasn't," he admitted exhaling a self-deprecating sigh. Guilt clouded his face. "I just figured since he showed me the picture…"

Abby's eyes narrowed. "What picture?"

"Of him and Agent DiNozzo when they were kids. That's what he told me, that…that they were school friends and they had a meeeting. I figured it would okay…"

Abby cleared her throat, scowling.

"…but I know it wasn't."

"Exactly," she agreed, aiming her green gaze over to Bishop's desk where Cory was sketching and trying desperately to look unbothered. His face was impassive, but his eyes were unsettled. "I just wanna know how Tippy got—"

"Excuse me, did you just say Tippy, as in Tippy Sherbrook?"

Abby frowned. Between chewing out Ned and staring at the kid, she hadn't heard the elevator ping. Now Agent Travis Borhelm from narcotics stood in front of her, wearing a hopeful, but nervous smile.

"You know Tippy?" Ned asked, shocked.

Borhelm nodded. "He's up here? He and I—"

"He's up here, all right," Abby interrupted. "He's up here screwing with Gibbs' investigation and Tony's sanity!"

"Whoa! What—"

"—Tippy's been up here harassing Tony and a federal witness!"

Borhelm shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. Tippy's been shadowing me as part of his story on drug use and sexual assault. Vance cleared his visits."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure Vance didn't clear his little field trips upstairs," Abby retorted. "You wanna explain why you didn't have him on a shorter leash?"

Borhelm blushed. "I well—hold on, how does Agent DiNozzo figure into all of this?"

"He and Tippy were childhood friends," Ned supplied.

Borhelm's mouth opened and closed, his face incredulous. "But why…" He trailed off. Slowly, his eyes brightened as he finally figured it out. "Son of a bitch," he half chuckled, half snorted. "That sneaky bastard. He used me."

"Go on," Abby coaxed.

"Tippy and my brother, Dean, were frat brothers at Dartmouth. Dean asked me to work with Tippy as a favor. I noticed Tippy's head wasn't really into the project, but since Dean…" he groaned. "…He wanted to get closer to DiNozzo, but why?"

Abby glanced at Cory. "We don't know."

"Where's Tippy now?"

"Up on the roof," Abby answered. "With Gibbs."

Borhelm flinched. "I'm not getting in the middle of that."

"You're already in the middle," Abby snapped. "I'll let Gibbs know you were here."

Borhelm's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry about this," he offered before stalking back to the elevator.

Ned frowned. "So Tippy was so desperate to talk to Agent DiNozzo that he manipulated his way into a federal building. Why would he do that?"

Abby didn't answer him. She stalked over to Tony's desk and retrieved the food she'd brought for Cory. Applying a mega watt smile, she bounced over to Bishop's desk and placed the food in front of the boy.

He didn't bother to look up from his sketchpad. She cleared her throat. "I brought you vittles."

"Not hungry," he mumbled only for his stomach to growl in disagreement. His head shot up, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

"It's good stuff. Try it," she coaxed, smoothly ignoring his petulant scowl. He made no movement toward the bag. "Come on—"

"—I can buy my own food," he snapped, still avoiding eye contact.

Abby arched her brow. "Really now? I imagine that'd be kinda hard. You know, with you being confined to the building and all."

"And why is that, you know, seeing that every Tom, Dick, and Tippy can stroll right in and conversate with me when—the hell—ever."

"Converse."

"What?"

"You said 'conversate'. That's not a word. You meant 'converse_'_—"

"—that's a shoe…"

"…No, actually, it's—"

"—_whatever_," he scowled up her through his bangs. She frowned and he looked away. "Look, the point is, why keep me prisoner when I'm obviously not safe here."

She reached out to cup his chin again, but stopped when she remembered his previous reaction in her lab. "You're definitely safe here. A ball was dropped—"

"Ya think?"

She ignored his sarcasm. "—but nobody's gonna hurt you. You can trust that Tony and—"

His eyes darkened as he squeezed his pencil so hard she thought it might snap in half. "I don't trust anybody."

Abby's brow furrowed. Last she saw, Tony and Cory had declared a truce. What happened on the roof?

"Cory, what happened?"

He looked at her then. His face was a twisted jigsaw puzzle of anger, disappointment, fear, and compassion. He blinked and his usual scowl returned.

"It wasn't my business," he answered flatly.

She heard at his unspoken "or yours". She bit her lip and turned her eyes down to his sketchbook. The sketch was unfinished, but she could make out the silhouette of a boy sitting on a bed, staring at a wall of roaring flames. As he sketched, her eyes trailed from his hand to his wrist. The "S'" shaped burn scar peeked out of his sleeve.

"You were in a fire," she stated more than asked.

His eyes snapped upward. A surprising familiarity washed over Abby. Cory blinked and it was gone.

He quickly closed his sketchbook and reached for the bag she'd left. "Thanks for the food."

She opened her mouth to respond, but shut it as soon as she heard the door to the stairwell open. McGee half walked, half stumbled through the metal doors, his blue eyes haunted and dazed.

Abby gasped and covered her mouth.

Whatever happened on that roof, she now knew, was bad.

_When I was a child I'd sit for hours,  
>staring into open flames.<br>Something in it had a power,  
>could barely tear my eyes away.<em>

* * *

><p>"I already know what happened that night," Tippy bit out.<p>

Tony stepped around Gibbs. "No, you don't," he refuted desperately.

"I know you stood and watched—"

"—I tried to stop it!"

Tippy lunged at Tony, only to run into Gibbs' outstretched forearm. "Liar!"

"I'm not lying! Piedy drugged me and then…"

* * *

><p><em>Piedy leaned in Tony's face, grinning like a damn "B" movie villain. Tony twisted in his grasp, trying not to gag at the smell of sour beer and overwhelming body odor. Piedy bent Tony's arm behind his back, chuckling as Tony struggled to keep from crying.<em>

"_Just give up, man," Piedy laughed, effortlessly pinning Tony further into the dirt. "It'll be over soon."_

"_Get bint!"_

"_I'll leave that to your little buddy," Piedy snickered as Tony fought harder. "Aww, whatsa matter? Did I strike a nerve?"_

"_I'm gonna—"_

"_What? Hurt me? Stop me? Listen, you little shit packer, the way I see it, you're getting off easy. See, this little field trip was just for you, man, but you were pretty smart, asking Sherbrook to tag along. You knew Baz couldn't pass him up!"_

"_That's not true!"_

"_Come on, DiNo, it's just us guys!"_

"_No, it's not like that…"_

"_But, it's exactly like that! Face it, DiNo, you're no different—"_

_Tony didn't know where the sudden burst of strength came from. Maybe it was the smug look on Piedy's face, or that he was right…_

_No! It definitely wasn't that! _

_Whatever it was, it had cooked up enough willpower to propel Tony upward so he could head-butt Piedy dead in his nose. Blood sprayed like a fire hose and Piedy thrashed on the ground, screaming. Scrambling to his feet, Tony kicked Piedy in the face, and took off in search of Tippy._

* * *

><p>"I never thought I'd say this, but, I agree with Piedy. You knew what would happen to me and you brought me there anyway."<p>

Tony tugged at his hair and growled in frustration. "Why can't you understand?"

"I understand perfectly, dammit! I was your fucking stunt double!"

"No!"

"Yes! It all makes sense to me now, your file, I mean. Saving little boys from burning houses, drowning women and bosses, babysitting witnesses, being this super hero cop," Tippy spat. "You go out of your way to save them because you couldn't save me!"

"That's not true!"

"Isn't it, DiNo—"

* * *

><p>"—<em>DiNo," Avery drops Piedy's bag. "How'd you—where's Piedy?"<em>

_Tony charges forward toward Baz's car and Tippy's screams. "Get the fuck outta my way, Avery!"_

"_DiNo, calm—"_

"—_move—"_

_Both stop talking when they hear the click and cringe of a car door opening followed by footsteps in the dirt. _

"_Hey there, DiNo," Baz greets with a wave before zipping his pants. "I was wondering—" _

"—_you sick son of a bitch," Tony charges at Baz but gets knocked down with a shove. "Tippy," he shouts toward the open car door. "Tippy!"_

"_He'll come out when he's ready," Tippy says casually then winks. "You know how shy guys can be after their first time."_

_Tony growls and rushes at Baz's legs, knocking him into the dirt. He barely manages to pin the older boy down and punch him in the face before Avery snatches him away. Baz lunges toward him, but Avery surprisingly blocks his path._

"_We don't have time for this," Avery reasons with his friend. "We don't have much time before the RA's shift changes."_

"_Fine," Baz begrudgingly agrees. "This isn't over DiNo!"_

_Avery moves around the two and starts toward the car. He fishes Tippy out of the back seat and dumps him in the dirt. He scowls briefly at his friend's handiwork then turns and walks away. _

"_Come on, Baz," he tosses over his shoulder. "Let's go find Piedy."_

_Baz smirks. "I had a good time tonight, Tippy. I would've taken you out sooner if I knew you put out," he sneers when he got no response. "You two better be gone when we get back. Oh, yeah, and touch my car and you're both dead."_

"_Tippy…"_

_Tippy curls himself in a ball, his lips moving like scissors, the shards of his faint whimpers gliding through the air. Tony pushes a benign hand forward, hoping to help him but Tippy recoils. Tippy's hand juts up to shield his backside, but just as quickly as it springs out, he resignedly clasps it over his face and shuts his eyes._

_Tony reaches for him again, careful to move slowly. Tippy recoils again and keeps his eyes closed, preparing himself for whatever form of cruelty he's certain Tony has in store._

"_It's me," Tony says gently, his voice shaking. "They're…they're gone. You're safe now. We have to get back to campus."_

_Slowly, Tippy seems to force his eyes open and although they have cleared, Tippy still stares at him brokenly. Tony winces. It was his fault. He was too late. It was all his fault!_

"_Let me hel—"_

"_Why?" Tippy croaks, grey eyes begging for an answer. "Why'd you let him do this to me?"_

* * *

><p>"Why'd you let him do that to me?" Tippy asked. His voice was thirteen again too.<p>

Tony realized that he was answering both the traumatized boy and the damaged man. "I didn't think he would do anything, to either of us—"

Tippy's eyes blazed. "How—"

"—please, let me say this. I…I thought…I thought that if…if you came with me that he wouldn't…" Tony's eyes cut nervously to Gibbs. The man's face was open and compassionate. Unsure of how to feel, Tony averted his eyes. "..._you know…"_

"Yeah, I know…and so do you."

Tony cleared his throat and jammed his hands in pockets.

Tippy shook his head. "You still can't admit what he did to you."

"Anyway, I thought…I _hoped_…that if you were there he would be _normal_. I thought we could go for a drive like he said and we'd help them with their prank. You were a Sherbrook; you were protected. Your family had real money like his. I thought you were untouchable!"

"Obviously not."

Tony lowered his head. "Yeah."

Silence lingered in the air. Tippy stood stalk still, staring numbly ahead with tears streaming down his face. Tony remained in his spot, frozen and full of guilt. Gibbs presided over them solemnly.

Tony broke the silence.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you in that position."

"No, you shouldn't have," Tippy agreed, but for once, his voice was more mournful than accusing. "But you didn't know any better. You were naïve. You were a boy," he looked Tony in the eye. "We both were. I see that now."

Tony could only nod.

"But there are other boys," Tippy continued passionately. "Boys caught up in the sick inferno that is Baz's grasp. They need your help. You couldn't save me, and _that_ wasn't your fault, _but_ you can save _them."_

"I…"

"You don't have to say thing now, but please, think about them…and yourself," when Tony offered no response, Tippy turned to Gibbs. "I think I got some of what I came for. I should be going. I apologize for the trouble I've caused."

Gibbs offered him a curt nod. Tippy smiled, adjusted his jacket, and left the roof.

Tippy was barely gone before Tony fell to his knees. Gibbs caught him, and the two sat in the snow. Tony couldn't cry for himself. So instead he cried for two boys who had grown into two complicated men haunted by past demons.

Gibbs simply held him as he cried, eyes focused on the sky.

All you have is your fire,

and the place you need to reach.

Don't you ever tame your demons,

but always keep them on a leash.

**Thank you for reading**!

Next up: Ducky admits something to Tony, who has a choice to make. The marshalls come for Cory. Tony tries to say goodbye. Tim makes a startling discovery. Cory isn't out of danger.

Please review! How'd you like the confrontation? I'd love to know what you thought? Also, how do you feel about long chapters? Would you rather they be split up? How long is too long?

Lastly, the lyrics in this chapter are from Hozier's "Arsonist Lullaby".


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